Wholly Unconnected to Me
by TuesdayMorning423
Summary: Dr. Bennet, Lady Catherine's personal physician, has brought his family to live in the shadow of Rosings park to benefit from the attentions of his patroness. Headstrong Elizabeth seems to thwart the great lady at every turn, but for the sake of Anne, Elizabeth is forgiven–until she refuses to turn her back on Mr. Darcy.
1. Chapter 1

**Wholly Unconnected to Me**

Dr. Bennet, Lady Catherine's personal physician, has brought his family to live in the shadow of Rosings part to benefit from the attentions of his patroness. Headstrong Elizabeth seems to thwart the great lady at every turn, but for the sake of Anne, Elizabeth is forgiven-until she refuses to turn her back on Mr. Darcy.

Act 1

Mama swept into Elizabeth's room, feathers fluttering and taffeta rustling a whispered warning.

At her dressing table, flanked by faithful Betsy, Elizabeth steeled herself for the spine chilling voice that would follow.

"Betsy, go attend Jane."

The young maid dropped a cowering curtsey and disappeared.

"Jane is in much greater need of Betsy's attentions." Mama swished in. "I will finish your hair. I do not think I like what she has done with it though. I will adjust it. You do not object, do you? "

Mama's skirts brushed against the dressing bench. Elizabeth willed herself silent and stared at Mama's reflection in the looking glass. The set of her mouth, the glint in her eye, all warned that there could be no right answer to that question, only varying degrees of wrong ones.

Mama picked at her curls and wound one into place, securing it a mite too forcefully with a sharp hair pin. Why did she have to be so rough? Elizabeth's own mother—she swallowed a familiar lump in her throat—had been so gentle. How was it Papa chose such a completely opposite woman to be his new wife?

"I do say, Lizzy—"

A chill ran down Elizabeth's neck. That nickname had the sound of derision when it fell from Mama's lips. From Mother, it had always been so sweet.

"You are looking very well tonight. Very well indeed. You will never be handsome as Jane, of course, but tonight you might even be considered pretty."

"Thank you, Mama."

"Stand up and let me see." She pulled Elizabeth up by the elbow. "Turn about." She folded her arms over her chest. "I am surprised at what you could do with my old gown."

"Thank—"

Mama flicked at the tiny tassels hanging off the Vandyke sleeve trim. "I know all these bits and bobs were not part of my gown."

"No, they were not. I bought very little, though. Most of it came from the excess from Jane's gown, or the trim from my older ones."

Mama leaned close and peered at the lace on the neckline, her breath hot on Elizabeth's skin. "I do not recall any of our gowns having these." She tugged one of the pale green tassels.

"Mrs. Jenkins showed me how to make them, at Lady Catherine's request. I added them out of respect to Her Ladyship. I thought it would please her." It would not do to note she liked them, too.

Mama harrumphed. "I will grant your intentions were appropriate. But—"

Elizabeth cringed.

"I wonder if perhaps it is not just a bit too much."

Elizabeth balled her fists, focusing on the sharp stab of her nails in her palms.

"Lady Catherine is hosting this dinner to introduce your sister to a prospective match. Jane is to be the center of attention tonight."

"Yes, Mama."

"How do you think it will appear—" Mama circled her, "you showing up in a gown so fine? You have done so much with it, it looks quite new. You do not wish to direct attention away from Jane, do you?"

"Not at all, Mama. Jane is so lovely in her new dress no one will pay notice of me in this reworked frock." She forced a smile. "I only wanted a gown suitable to the occasion and pleasing to Lady Catherine so that I would not be an embarrassment to any of you." She blinked sweetly through the burning bitterness of words. Though this was the answer Mama sought, it cost her dearly to voice it.

"Then you will not complain about changing it?"

Of course! She knew this was coming. Why should she have expected anything else? "Not at all, Mama."

"I should think that blue gown you wore last week quite appropriate. It is modest and demure—"

"Mrs. Bennet! Lady Catherine's carriage approaches." Papa called from downstairs. He used his commanding, not to be argued with, air that always made Mama even more irritable. What joy was hers.

"We are coming, Dr. Bennet."

Elizabeth's stomach clenched at the saccharine taste of her stepmother's tone. How did he tolerate it?

"We cannot keep your father waiting." Mama strode to the press and pulled a lace fichu from the drawer. "You do not have time to change. Put this on and be downstairs quickly." She threw the lace at Elizabeth and stalked to the door. She looked over her shoulder. "I can count on you to help me make everything about Jane tonight?"

"Yes, Mama." At least that sentiment was entirely honest.

The door clicked shut. Elizabeth stood before the mirror and arranged the fichu. It looked quite lovely with her gown. Mama would be very displeased.

Elizabeth settled into the soft velvet of Lady Catherine's oldest coach. How many did she have? There was this one, the barouche box, the chaise, the landau, oh yes, and Miss de Bourgh's little phaeton. No wonder she could afford to keep her father on retainer as her personal physician.

The upholstery reeked of Lady Catherine's perfume—stale roses and something else that combined into a most fitting stink, one that always brought to mind the great lady. Elizabeth glanced at Mama. She was deep in a lecture to Jane about how best to comport herself to please the lady and her gentlemen guests. If there was anyone in the world who did not need such a lecture, it was Jane. She was just like Mother. She even looked a great deal like her. Mama fawned over her for it and Papa did nothing to discourage it. If anything, he seemed to approve. How did Jane bear it with such a quiet grace? Elizabeth certainly would never be able to do so.

Papa pointed through the side glass with his chin.

"Is that the Collinses in Lady Catherine's chaise?" Elizabeth asked.

"I do believe it is." Papa thumbed his lapels.

"I will be most glad to see Charlotte."

"Charlotte?" Mama leaned toward Elizabeth. "Do you not find that most unbecoming familiarity?"

"If it makes you uneasy, Mama, I will not address her so in public."

"See that you do not. I would much prefer it if you did not exchange such intimacies with her at all." Mama folded her hands in her lap.

"I do not see what is wrong with Lizzy having a particular friend." Papa said.

Mama cocked her head and gave him that particular look.

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and suppressed the urge to plug her ears with her fingers.

"You do not see what is wrong? That woman is an interloper. She should not even be here!"

"She is my cousin's wife."

"A place she does not deserve to have. By all rights, Lizzy should have been mistress of the parsonage by now." Mama planted her hands on her hips, her elbow jabbing Papa in the chest.

"Collins did us enough of a favor when he recommended me to Lady Catherine. We can hardly require him to marry one of our girls as well."

"Whom else should he have married? Lady Catherine herself presented Lizzy as a suitable match for him. He should not have gone against her will, had Lizzy behaved as she ought."

"As I recall, it was Jane he was most interested in." Papa cast his gaze to the ceiling and pinched the bridge of his nose.

This same conversation had been repeated yesterday when the invitation from Rosings had come. Elizabeth had been able to duck out of the room then, but no such except was possible now.

"Of course he was most interested in Jane. That is to be expected."

"Mama, please stop." Jane looked at her feet and shifted deeper into the cushions.

Mama patted her knees. "What man would not be attracted? But that is exactly why Lady Catherine deemed she must marry higher than a vicar. He was quite good enough for Lizzy."

"And yet he still chose elsewhere. What does that tell you, Mrs. Bennet?"

"That Lizzy should be more attentive…"

Ah yes, that familiar tirade that Mama resorted to so often these days. Not a day had gone by since Mr. Collins's marriage that she had not heard it, usually followed by the lamentations of how much it cost to keep an unmarried daughter—who should be married—in the house.

Jane slipped her hand into Elizabeth's and squeezed.

Dear Jane, ever her stalwart support. Perhaps if Lady Catherine's choice for Jane was by some miracle suitable, she might move in with them after they married. Happy thought indeed.

"…your failure to secure Mr. Collins is costing your sisters dearly. Mary will not be able to have a new gown and my poor dears Kitty and Lydia…"

But Mary did not need a new gown to catch a beau. She alone of them already had the eye of a reliable young man neither too high nor too low for her station. And her stepsisters—Elizabeth pressed her lips together tightly. If Mama caught her smiling, an ugly scene would ensue, but still it was difficult.

"We are nearly there!" Mama lurched across the coach and squeezed in beside Jane, smashing Elizabeth into the side of the coach. She pinched Jane's cheeks hard enough to make her wince and tucked in stray hairs that Elizabeth could not see. "Sit up straight Jane. No man will look at a slouch. Remember, you are the guest of honor tonight. Lady Catherine has selected these gentlemen specifically with you in mind."

"I hardly think that the case, Mrs. Bennet. As I understand, her nephews are visiting and brought with them several friends."

"Perhaps, perhaps," she tugged Jane's bodice a bit lower, almost too low. "But that does not change the fact she noted Jane as suitable company for these young men of quality. So, do not squander this opportunity my dear. Since we are no longer in London, we cannot afford to waste—"

The driver opened the door and the step dropped in a loud clank. Elizabeth hung back to be the last one out of the coach. It was going to be a long night and there was no sense in starting it a moment sooner than necessary.

Lady Catherine must have chosen the tallest man in all of England for her butler. He towered head and shoulders and perhaps another head again above Elizabeth. His deep gravel voice and somber expression might have intimidated her, but he offered her a quick wink before he led them inside.

Many candles lit the over-decorated foyer, glinting off mirrors and crystal. Their scent bespoke beeswax, an extravagance reserved for Rosings. Lady Catherine did not permit Mama or Mrs. Collins anything but tallow candles. Much more appropriate for a small income _she_ said.

"I will choose my own candles without…"

"What is that Lizzy?" Papa turned over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows.

"Nothing, Papa, I was merely noting the many lovely candles." Her cheeks burned. Papa always knew when she was lying.

"Stop muttering." Mama did not bother to even look at her.

"Yes, Mama."

Papa gazed up to the ornate ceiling moldings and shook his head.

The butler ushered them into the parlor. More like _her_ throne room—the overstuffed palatial chamber in which she held court, dispensing her opinions upon anyone she could lure or trap within.

Odd, only Charlotte and Mr. Collins tended _her_.

"The Bennets, madam." The butler bowed and left, giving Elizabeth one last twitch of an eyebrow as he passed.

Appropriate bows, curtsies and greetings were exchanged.

"You were very nearly late tonight, Dr. Bennet." Lady Catherine pulled herself a little straighter in her imposing gilt chair and tapped her foot loudly. Good thing she did not have a scepter in her hand or she might have struck him with it. "The Collinses preceded you by a full ten minutes at least."

"We are most sorry, your ladyship." Mama dipped her head. "But we do have two young ladies—"

"I expect you to be the first to arrive, Doctor. Anne is in need of your advice as to which of her tonics she should have before dinner and which after. She should have had that advice earlier, so she could have been with us by now."

"Of course, your ladyship. This will not happen again. I will attend to her now." Papa bowed deeply.

"See that you do. Go on then." _She_ waved him away. "Sit down. I will not have you standing there so stupidly." _She_ pointed at a small settee.

Mama and Jane sat down. Elizabeth looked at the remaining space. No, she could not fit there, not even Miss de Bourgh might. She hurried across the room and sat beside Charlotte.

Lady Catherine fixed a dark glare upon her. Goodness, what did the woman expect? For her to sit upon Jane's lap? Or perhaps perch upon the arm of the settee like some sort of royal pet—a hawk perhaps? Would it have been better to ignore her command all together and stand? Mama mirrored Lady Catherine's expression. Another recitation of 'How dare you vex your father's patron' was sure to be repeated on the way home tonight.

"You look very well tonight, Lizzy." Charlotte whispered.

"Thank you, Mrs. Collins." Elizabeth quickly glanced at Mama.

Charlotte nodded. The corner of her mouth twitched downward just the slightest bit.

Lady Catherine cleared her throat and flipped a wrinkle out of her skirt. "So, as I was saying…"

All eyes turned to her.

"Yes, as I was saying, my nephew and a party of his friends arrived just yesterday and are in need of the company of younger people for amusement in the evenings. I shall expect you to attend us often whilst they visit."

"Certainly, your ladyship. I can think of nothing better for my girls—"

"You know my wife and I are always here to serve you in any way possible." Mr. Collins managed to bow despite the fact he was still seated. How was that possible?

"All of you ladies may certainly benefit from well-bred company."' Lady Catherine glanced at Elizabeth. "But, except for my niece who had just come out, the ladies of the party are merely tradesmen's daughters seeking to better themselves. Though their wealth gives them some standing, no one with so new a fortune can be considered too highly in society."

"No, your ladyship." Mr. Collins nodded so hard his head might have fallen off had his cravat not been tied so securely.

"After all, a family name and connections are no small thing in the world."

"And a connection to Rosings Park is a most valued one indeed." Mama's words tumbled out almost on top of _hers_, earning Mama a raised eyebrow.

"Although they have been educated in the best girls' seminary their parents could _afford,__" __she_ sniffed at the word. "We must prepare ourselves for vulgarity of manner and coarseness of opinion. I expect their conversation will be unpolished and their accomplishments of little note."

"Those are not unredeemable faults, though." Elizabeth said.

Mama's face crumpled into a wrinkled mass.

"That is to say, your ladyship, that fine company and an example such as your and Miss de Bourgh might be the very tonic to cure their malady."

Charlotte's lips twitched. Dear friend that she was, she would not dare laugh and disabuse Mama or Lady Catherine of her sincerity.

"Astute of you to notice, Miss Elizabeth, quite astute. That is precisely why I have permitted them to come. I take the responsibility of rank quite seriously and feel it my duty to offer betterment to those who are willing to seek it, no matter the inconvenience to me."

"Indeed you are all that is gracious and kind." Mr. Collins said.

"My girls have blossomed under your tutelage, my lady."

"As has Mrs. Collins."

Charlotte twitched and turned the same deep red as the settee. Perhaps she might blend in and avoid further notice.

"Of course they have. Of course." _She _nodded.

The great plume on her turban bobbed and amplified each movement into something very grand indeed. Perhaps a tiara would have been more fitting for an audience in _her_ throne room.

"How could anyone fail to bloom in the shadow of Rosings? You may take comfort in that dear Anne has suffered no harm from their presence…"

Elizabeth balled her fists and pushed them deep into the settee. Miss de Bourgh suffer harm from them? The very thought of it! With her highhanded remarks about everyone and everything and her ill-informed opinions, her guests were the ones in danger of being ruined by that scrawny, spoiled, freckled—

"What say you, Miss Elizabeth?" Lady Catherine asked.

"Excuse me, your Ladyship?"

"Were you not paying attention? How many times have I—"

"Forgive me. When you mentioned Miss de Bourgh, I could not help but be reminded of her very great virtues. I fear I was lost in my considerations of how I might learn even more from my acquaintance with her and what I might possibly be able to offer as a service to her." Forcing a smile to follow that speech was almost too much for her. But somehow she managed to do it. Perhaps the most blatantly insincere expression she had ever crafted, but a necessary piece of armor in this battle field.

Lady Catherine stared at her through narrowed eyes. Mama's gaze focused on Lady Catherine. No one breathed, though the loudly ticking clock reminded them that perhaps they should.

"Of course you were—and who could blame you your distraction when such a person was suggested to you." _Her_ words were slow and measured though her eyes remained narrow.

"Elizabeth is such a good girl, a gracious and humble recipient of all Miss de Bourgh has to offer." Mama agreed through gritted teeth.

That would likely cost her yet another lecture tonight, yet she might be surprised. Mama might approve of such open flattery. It could be difficult to predict exactly how Mama would respond.

"We hired the new maid you recommended." Charlotte pressed her shoulder to Elizabeth's.

"Of course you did. Why would you do otherwise?"

"What my dear wife means to say," Mr. Collins leaned forward and slightly in front of Charlotte, "is that we are humbly grateful for your advice in the matter. She is everything you promised and a boon to our household already." He snuck a quick glare over his shoulder at Charlotte and Elizabeth.

Odious man! How could Mama have ever expected Elizabeth to marry him? Poor, poor Charlotte now forced to endure him the rest of her life.

Lady Catherine rose to her feet. Everyone else followed suit. _She_ took several steps toward the doorway. "Ahh, Anne, you have been sorely missed tonight."

Miss de Bourgh stopped two steps into the room as she always did. No doubt to give them a moment to bask in her majestic presence.

Elizabeth forced _that_ smile back into submission. Anything less would surely be considered impertinent.

Miss de Bourgh's dress made her appear twice as large as she was. A girl of four and twenty, she appeared no more than four and ten by stature and figure alone. Sallow complexion and straw like hair failed to compliment the rich coral silk of her poufed sleeves. The full skirt and train only weighed her down and made any movement a great effort. No wonder she was late. It was a great wonder she made it downstairs at all.

She leaned on the arm of a tall, well-built young man who bore an ever so slight resemblance to her and her mother. Behind them, another young man, with a much taller, fine looking young lady on his arm, waited to be admitted into the room. Shadows shifted and shuffled, bespeaking more persons waiting in the hall behind them.

"Please take our place, Miss de Bourgh." Mr. Collins bowed and gestured toward the settee.

Miss de Bourgh nodded and approached them with steps so small and slow she might never reach her destination. Two more ladies and three gentlemen filed in as there was room. Papa closed the procession and rushed to stand near Miss de Bourgh. He helped her sit, offering her additional pillows and blankets until she waved him off with a flick of her frail hand.

The rest of the party stared at the room, their shoes and one another.

Lady Catherine cleared her throat and all eyes fixed on _her._

"Are you going to introduce us, Aunt, or shall we all just stare dumbly at one another?" Miss de Burgh's escort asked.

Though he stood ramrod straight, a glint of mischief lit his eyes.

"Nephew." _She_ glared at him with a look that would wither most plants and all but the most stalwart of people. "Col. Fitzwilliam, Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, may I present my vicar, Mr. Collins, Mrs. Collins, my physician, Dr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Elizabeth curtsied. What of the four who stood behind them?

Lady Catherine looked at the Collinses and Bennets. "May I present my nephew's friends, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley and Mr. Wickham."

How kind of _her _to make the distinction of rank all too clear.

Mr. Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam rearranged the room so all could sit in the great lady's presence. The Hursts seemed all too pleased to be near her, Miss Bingley, too, though slightly more dignified about it. Mr. Wickham and Mr. Bingley took seats next to Jane. At least Mama did not cackle aloud with glee.

Clearly the Darcys and the colonel had been in this chamber before. They sat as far from _her_ as possible.

Elizabeth waited until everyone else was seated before taking the one remaining place, between Charlotte and Col. Fitzwilliam. Mama could not fault her for taking precedence she did not deserve.

Mr. Collins leaned toward the Darcys. If he did not attend his posture, he might soon topple out of his chair. "I understand your party arrived—"

"Just yesterday," Lady Catherine said. "They traveled in three coaches with drivers and six outriders."

"We could have driven ourselves, but that drives her mad." Colonel Fitzwilliam whispered, his lips barely moving. "I was sorely tempted."

Elizabeth blinked rapidly and stole a sidelong look at the perfectly postured officer.

"And had you a pleasant journey?" Mama asked.

"It was—" Mr. Darcy said.

"Tolerable. Travel is at best tolerable. A necessary evil, I always say. It is much more pleasant for one to receive company than to be received. Do you not agree nephew?" _She_ asked, though her expression made it clear no response was actually expected.

"Said the spider to the fly."

What an uncanny trick that was, the ability to speak without moving ones lips. She might have to petition the Colonel to teach it to her. Elizabeth swallowed her laugher into a deep cough.

"Are you unwell, Miss Elizabeth?" Lady Catherine stared, her voice sharp as a surgeon's knife.

"Certainly not!" Mama snapped. "We would never allow anyone with signs of illness to come—"

"No, no, your Ladyship, merely caught by the unique wisdom and insight of your words."

"Oh," _She_ settled back into her seat. "As you should be."

Col. Fitzwilliam coughed.

Charlotte stepped on Elizabeth's toes and flicked her head toward Papa.

He stood near Miss de Bourgh, frowning. He caught her gaze and shook his head just enough for her to notice.

She dropped her eyes and studied her hands. Mama's ire she could stand. Papa's she could not. What did he expect when everything about this situation was so entirely ridiculous?

Talk, mostly Lady Catherine's, swirled about her. How long had they traveled? They had come from London. The weather had been fair and the roads fine. _She _made pronouncements on the best inns and the evils of travel by post. Elizabeth kept her head down, nodding occasionally.

The housekeeper appeared in the doorway.

"Dinner is served." Lady Catherine rose.

Papa and Mr. Collins appeared on either side of her, offering their arms in escort. She strode past them and took Mr. Darcy's arm. His mask was too good. Elizabeth could not tell him pleased or aggrieved. He was a well-looking man though, a very well-looking man.

Papa escorted Anne. Elizabeth lingered until all the escorts had taken their choice of lady and walked with Miss Bingley into the dining room.

"It is rather shocking when the ladies outnumber the gentlemen." Miss Bingley murmured.

"I am one of five sisters." Elizabeth kept her eyes firmly ahead of her. "I find it a most common occurrence."

"You have no brothers? How shocking. One would think, if anyone could get sons, it would be a doctor."

"One might, but clearly he could not. Even more shocking, he had the poor judgment to be born the second son of a country gentleman and so has had to shift for himself with a career to provide his fortune."

Miss Bingley drew a breath, but paused, mouth open, her brows drawn together in an odd little crease. The poor woman had not the sense to discern the absurdity she had just been told.

Elizabeth halted a step and ushered Miss Bingley into the dining room first. The poor dear might not be able to tolerate being the last one into the dining room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Footmen stood around the heavily laden table. The many mirrors multiplied their numbers into a small army of attendants, making the dining room far too crowded and the table feel far too long.

Lady Catherine reigned at the head of the table, the ornate, armed chair standing in admirably for her regular throne. Colonel Fitzwilliam occupied the foot with Anne at his right. Interesting that Mr. Darcy did not sit at that place of honor. Rather, he sat nearer the middle, beside his sister. Had he displeased _her_ in some way?

Colonel Fitzwilliam would have been pleasant company for the meal. But those honorable seats were already taken. Even had they not been, Elizabeth would not have invited Mama's wrath by taking one.

A more easily overlooked place near the center of the table would suit her well. She slipped in between Charlotte and Mr. Wickham. His easy smile and twinkling eyes were enough to recommend him as a dinner companion—that and the open seat beside him. She edged her chair tight under the table. The footmen standing ready behind her would require room to do their work and they deserved whatever consideration she could offer.

A plate of turtle soup appeared before her, fragrant perfume wafting from its surface. For all its flaws, Rosings Park did possess splendid kitchen staff and the meals served were always memorable. That was one distinct advantage of _her_ notice.

"You are Dr. Bennet's daughter?" Mr. Wickham asked, tucking his napkin into his collar over his elaborately tied cravat. That knot was rarely seen in these parts.

"One of five, sir." She sipped her soup, which was not unlikely to be the chiefest pleasure of her evening.

"Five, that is rather a large number of sisters, is it not? Have you any brothers?"

What a very original questions. Certainly she would never have heard that before. This was going to be a stunning conversation. "No, sir, I do not."

His voice dropped to just above a whisper. "I imagine Lady Catherine has already informed you that is a very ill-advised strategy for a family."

Elizabeth set her spoon beside her plate and dabbed her lips. "Yes, she has. She has also offered her very sage recommendations on what may be done to remedy the situation." She caught his gaze. "Very specific recommendations. In the drawing room."

Mr. Wickham choked and sputtered. He grabbed his napkin and coughed into it.

"Are you well, sir?" she asked, forcing her face into a bland expression.

"Yes, yes, I am thank you." He clutched his throat. "And your father, he is not…troubled by her—"

"Advice?" Her eyebrows lifted. "Certainly not. Everyone knows that her advice is of uncommon worth and always worth attending carefully."

He snorted and took up his napkin again.

She returned to her soup.

"What is that? I could not hear you clearly." Lady Catherine leaned forward on her elbows. "I must have my share of the conversation."

How rude, calling down the table. Elizabeth turned toward her and blinked several times. Her throat pinched, lifting her voice half a note. "I was merely telling Mr. Wickham how we all value your advice in all matters."

"Indeed?"

Papa and Mama turned and stared at her. Mama's face turned a color that clashed sharply with her gown.

"Absolutely. Who else amongst us speaks to the variety of subjects, with the level of authority you do, your Ladyship? We all spend many hours discussing the wisdom you condescend to dispense among us."

Mama's eyes bulged, but Papa's crinkled at the corners.

"Of course, of course." _She _relaxed back into her chair, hands folded into her lap. "Few are so attentive to their betters when they speak. It does you and your family much credit that you are." She nodded at Mama.

Mama returned to her meal, the unattractive color faded from her cheeks and neck. Papa winked and turned to Mrs. Hurst, a faint smile on his lips.

Elizabeth felt Mr. Wickham's eyes on her. She turned.

His mouth hung open. "I cannot…" his lips formed words, but his voice failed.

"What did I say that was untrue?"

"Nothing, I suppose."

"So then, what is your wonder that I would speak the truth of my father's patron?"

"I am all astonishment, Miss Elizabeth. I have been told I am glib of tongue, but I do believe I have met my equal." He smiled, a glittering, warm, utterly distracting expression. His eyes though, made it clear he knew exactly the effect that expression had.

She tried to smile but rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Would that sour taste taint the rest of her meal? "And how am I to know what kind of compliment I have been paid, sir?"

"Excuse me?"

"Is it a desirable thing to be your verbal equal or instead some dire pronouncement to be avoided by all polite society?"

The left side of his mouth turned up and he shook his head. "I shall be certain to sharpen my sword before sparring with you again."

Lady Catherine rang a silver bell and the footmen leapt into action, removing platters and plates. They folded the first tablecloth with great ceremony, revealing a pristine cloth underneath. Elizabeth sat perfectly still lest she jostle any of the servants and cause them to incur their mistress's wrath. New platters filled the table and Lady Catherine introduced the new dishes, some quite exotic indeed.

Her servants and many of the parish would eat well tonight and tomorrow. Had _she_ any idea of how much food was sold from the back door of her kitchen?

"Do you fancy any cauliflower or carrots, Miss Elizabeth? Mr. Wickham asked, serving spoon in hand.

"Indeed. Both if you please." There, that response did not taste so bad. He was, all told, a handsome man, perhaps not so much as his companion, Mr. Darcy, but certainly more so than Colonel Fitzwilliam. Not that Lady Catherine would ever acknowledge anyone so low could be in anyway better than someone related to her.

"You may wish to stop staring before someone notices." Charlotte whispered.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Thank you for bringing me back to my senses."

"You are welcome." Charlotte dabbed her chin with her napkin. "I do suppose, though, I should give you leave to like him, even if he is quite handsome."

Heat crept across her cheeks. "And why has he been singled out for your particular approval?"

"Not my approval, Lizzy, Lady Catherine's."

Elizabeth set her fork alongside her plate. "Pray tell me your meaning."

"Miss Bingley," Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, "mentioned that she heard Lady Catherine say she thought Mr. Wickham might do very well for you."

A vague chill coursed down her spine. "That is very faint praise—toward him, I am sure."

"Lizzy!" Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Do be serious. You are gentleman's daughter, he is a gentleman—"

"Indeed? The way he was introduced led me to believe otherwise. What have you discovered? Where is his estate?"

"I concede, you are right, he has no estate. But he is studying the law. Miss Bingley said he has just been granted admission to the Inn of Courts."

"How fortunate for him." Elizabeth stared at her plate.

"You seemed quite content with his attentions a few minutes ago. Do not tell me you have changed your mind now? Even you are not so contrary."

"I am not being contrary." Elizabeth stabbed a slice of meat with her fork. "I have merely learned that my desires are rarely the same as _hers_."

"Therefore, you must necessarily reject whatever she recommends?"

"It is a useful shorthand."

"I cannot believe it of you. You may say it, but I cannot allow that you would act in that way. You are far more sensible than that."

And yet it was her good sense that informed that very opinion. If only Charlotte knew that _she _was Elizabeth's first reason for disliking Mr. Collins and that aversion proved to be entirely accurate.

What would Charlotte think if she knew Lady Catherine had intended to make Elizabeth mistress of the parsonage and worse, _she_ heartily disapproved of Mr. Collins choice? Charlotte would never hear it from Elizabeth's lips, nor anyone else's if she had anything to do with it.

"You have great faith in my good sense." Elizabeth laughed and sipped her wine.

"And you shall not convince me otherwise. I have met no one who speaks better sense than you."

"Which is precisely why I have you for my friend. I must have someone in my life who thinks me very clever."

"You know Jane does as well."

"Perhaps, but she is so good and kind and gentle she does not need my cleverness to ensure she is the picture of perfection." Elizabeth glanced at Jane, effortlessly radiant, chatting serenely with . "Whereas my younger sisters—"

"—have little use for anything you might say. I know the dilemma well. I believe my younger sister to be a blend of Kitty and Lydia."

"All gaiety and fun and low bodices well-filled."

"But more ready to follow than lead, like Kitty."

"So she is more easy tempered, I should think."

"So you might, but I have had little success." Charlotte rubbed her fist across her chin.

"Will she—"

Lady Catherine cleared her throat. All conversation ceased and all eyes turned to her.

"Mr. Collins shall now say the grace—briefly."

Elizabeth nearly injured herself holding back her snicker. The weight of Charlotte's heel on her toes helped. At least Charlotte had a sense of humor about her husband's legendary long-windedness, and the majority of his other imperfections. Truly he had chosen better for himself than _she _had.

"…Amen."

Lady Catherine rose. "We shall all adjourn to the parlor."

Everyone rose.

At least the ladies would not have the privilege of a private audience with _her_ tonight. Though had she thought about it, Elizabeth might have expected it. Knowing the gentlemen would carry a conversation without _her_ having a share of it would be too much to bear.

Elizabeth made no hurry to leave the dining room. Much more pleasing to allow her betters to leave the room ahead of her and so forestall the very great 'pleasures' of the drawing room.

By the time Elizabeth entered, the room had already been rearranged probably by _her_ nephews, who were, at least, not so proud to be unwilling to do her bidding, menial though it might be. Good on them. There might be something redeeming in the family, yet.

Music, it seemed, would be their first diversion with chairs stationed in rows about the pianoforte. After all, there were few in England who might boast more true enjoyment in music than she. With her natural taste, if she had only learnt, she would have been a proficient. Elizabeth turned aside and rolled her eyes. It was probably not a good thing to recall the great lady's words so clearly.

"Do sit down." Lady Catherine lowered herself onto her throne, placed front and center in the audience. "It is fitting we should have music tonight. Georgiana, you shall start."

The poor girl jumped and stammered, hand pressed to her chest. "In front of so many people?"

She was a tall girl, not the gangly tallness that could be considered an affliction, but rather that elegant columnar tallness that harkened to classic lines and sophisticated beauty. The fringe of her embroidered white shawl trembled, though she managed to control the rest of her bearing.

Lady Catherine's eyes bulged, a bit too much like Charlotte's pug, and her lips pulled back. It was a wonder she did not growl.

Miss Darcy was positively white as her gown. Her tremors moved from her fringe to her hands. If she quivered any harder, Papa might mistake it for a seizure.

One had to have a hearty constitution to bear Lady Catherine's imperiousness and clearly Miss Darcy did not. Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Darcy. His brows furrowed, eyes dark and vaguely dangerous. His shoulders tense and back ready, he would spring to his sister's defense.

Did he realize what an ugly scene could result? Good on him for being willing to standing up to _her_. But for Jane's sake, Elizabeth could not let that happen.

She rose and quietly slipped to Miss Darcy's side. "Our group is not so formidable as it would seem. But if you are unused to audiences, I can see how it would feel quite intimidating. Would it be helpful if I turn pages for you? I could even stand between you and your audience so you might pretend I am the only one watching."

"I…I…"

"And I am so lacking in musical skill I am genuinely impressed by anything more accomplished than a simple scale."

Miss Darcy giggled though her eyes glistened and her hands still shook. She glanced at Mr. Darcy.

The towering man had eased his stance and the most formidable furrows had faded from his brow. He nodded ever so slightly.

"I…thank you. That is very kind." Miss Darcy sniffled and looked down. She picked her way across the room to the pianoforte.

Elizabeth followed. "What do you wish to play—"

"Miss Elizabeth, give her the selection uppermost in the folio on the instrument. I ordered it particularly for her." Lady Catherine pointed with one hand while she leaned over to talk to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Elizabeth retrieved the music. It was a piece she would never attempt, in fact few she knew would dare. "Are you—"

"Yes, it is fine." Miss Darcy whispered and sat lightly on the bench. "It is just—" she looked over her shoulder and lost the remaining color in her cheeks.

"You do not like to be watched. Of course, I understand." Elizabeth shifted slightly and pressed her lips tightly. Never had she seen an accomplished musician who needs blinders like a horse, but such modesty did Miss Darcy credit. "There –is that better?"

"Yes, yes, I suppose." Miss Darcy dropped her head, gaze firmly on the keys and her trembling hands.

Her anxiety was growing worse. This would not do! "Perhaps I should procure that screen from the corner and place it around you?" Elizabeth cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh, would you!"

Elizabeth snickered. "I would gladly, but I ought to warn you, the japanware clashes terribly with your gown."

Miss Darcy stifled a laugh with a hand to her mouth.

"Oh, you must not do that! Her Ladyship is most opposed to laughter." Elizabeth leaned over Miss Darcy's shoulder and arranged the scrip sheets. "Shall I ask her to wait whilst I rearrange the furniture again?"

Miss Darcy laughed harder.

Lady Catherine cleared her throat.

"Perhaps not." They shared a conspiratorial glance, and Miss Darcy lifted her hands to the keys.

The black notes on the pages came to life and danced through the room, cavorting though the bric-a-brac and skipping amongst the candles.

So this was what a true proficient sounded like. Neither Elizabeth nor any of her sisters would ever be one. A smile crept over her lips. Lady Catherine certainly would not have become one either—had she only learnt.

Miss Darcy favored them with another selection, though she insisted her new friend remain at her station. It was a small enough favor to perform. Their enjoyment should not come at the expense of the poor girl's equanimity. By the end, Miss Darcy even graced her with a smile, though whether it was for her assistance or for relief that her ordeal was over, was not clear.

_She _ordered Miss Bingley to play next. The lady moved with easy grace to the instrument. No doubt displaying her accomplishments—and her figure—brought her great pleasure and no few accolades. She was nearly as accomplished as Miss Darcy.

"Please, Miss Elizabeth, sit beside me." Miss Darcy scooted over on the small settee.

"I should not. Her Ladyship prefers to preserve the distinction of rank, and it is not my place—"

"I insist, Miss Elizabeth." Mr. Darcy towered over her, dark eyes warm and rich as his voice. He gestured toward the spot.

What could she do but obey? Her cheeks heated and she sat beside Miss Darcy.

Mr. Darcy hovered behind them, daring his aunt to experience displeasure, much less voice it. After all what choice did Elizabeth have but to obey her superiors? Clearly he was made of sterner stuff than his sister but gallant enough to use it for her good.

"Miss Bingley plays very well." Elizabeth whispered.

"Yes, she does, but her gasp of the dynamics is not quite right. She favors the forte and allegro too much. Listen—this passage can you hear? She does not manage the light-handed parts right at all."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and focused. "I had not noticed before, but you are correct. The piece feels—unbalanced?"

"Yes, yes exactly. You have a good ear." Miss Darcy's gaze never left the instrument. "Do you play?"

"Only a little and very ill indeed. I try to play only in duet with my sister Jane so she can cover for all the passages I fudge and slur. But even she is not to Miss Bingley's standard, much less your own."

"Is that her over there with Mr. Bingley?"

"Yes."

Jane sat beside him, hanging on his every word. She was good at that—making one feel as though they were the only one in the room.

"She is very beautiful."

"Thank you. I have always thought so, but it is delightful to hear others agree with that opinion."

"Is she always like that—so…"

"Angelic?"

"Yes. She is exactly as she seems to be. I confess, it can be a trial having a sister so good and perfect and beautiful, but it is my burden to bear and I think I make a good show of it, most times." Elizabeth fought to keep her smile subdued.

"You think her a good sister then? A good friend even?"

"The best. There is no one I regard more highly, even if she is so proper her true feelings are hidden beneath her reserve. Some think her too serene, but they do not know how deeply she feels things."

Miss Darcy's posture softened and she smoothed her skirt over her knees. "I am most pleased to hear that."

"Forgive my boldness, but my I ask why?"

"Mr. Bingley is my brother's good friend, and I do not wish to see him unhappy in any way."

"He does not appear to be displeased with her company now."

"No, but I know there have been occasions where he has been disappointed in the character of young ladies."

"And you suspect your own aunt's judgment enough to distrust the maiden she has selected for him?"

"Oh, that is not at all what I meant. Truly, I meant no offense, Miss Elizabeth." She crushed her skirts in her fists.

"None taken, I assure you. I am sure you are unaware, she declared I was for Mr. Collins." She looked toward Collins who leaned so far out of his chair to speak to Lady Catherine that if anything were to startle him, he would surely fall out.

Miss Darcy clapped her hand over her mouth.

Above her, Mr. Darcy snorted. She craned her neck to look at him. He wore the same impassive mask, but the barest corner of his lips twitched up.

"So you see, I understand your concerns entirely."

"Oh, but I did not mean to say—"

"I know. Rest assured, though you may have faith in Jane."

Miss Bingley's hands crashed onto the keyboard in a final crescendo.

Elizabeth applauded because she should. Most of the room did likewise, if their expressions were any judge of it. Mr. Bingley nearly missed his cue to clap. He only did so after Jane nudged him and glanced at the pianoforte.

"So what kind of gentleman has our benefactress chosen for my sister?"

"I like him very much—"

"Miss Bennet, you shall now play. Mrs. Collins, Miss Elizabeth, sing for us."

Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. At least she was not ordered to play. That would have been infinitely worse. But performing to strangers—she well knew Miss Darcy's dread, made infinitely worse by knowing that the truly able musicians had already displayed and her own performance could only look worse in comparison.

Lady Catherine cleared her throat—she must be obeyed.

Mama flapped her hands, urging haste. "You must forgive their natural modesty your ladyship. My girls are not ones to put themselves forward as some are." She glared at Mrs. Collins.

Elizabeth gasped, but Charlotte shook her head. Mama's barbed remarks never bothered her as much as they did Elizabeth.

Jane sat at the pianoforte, cheeks very flushed. "I am not up to the standards of either—"

"Do not try to be." Elizabeth reached for the music folio. "Let us have some simple, easy songs that cannot, by their very nature, be compared to the concertos we have been given. Remember you will not be faulted for playing more simply then her niece—who is a very sweet girl I might add." Her voice conveyed far more confidence than she felt, but it was what Jane needed and therefore necessary. She placed the sheet music on the piano, simple, familiar country songs that people actually liked to hear.

Charlotte nodded and pointed to one. Jane lifted her hands and played the first notes. She was a competent player of simple music like this and produced a light sweet tone that fit Elizabeth's and Charlotte's voices well.

The singers' enjoyment of the piece was greater than their skill. Lady Catherine scowled, though the turn of her lips suggested she appreciated the simplicity of their performance. But Mr. Bingley smiled broadly at them, and that was payment enough for their efforts.

Mr. Wickham approached. "May I join you?" He bowed.

"I do not know, sir. Are you up to the performance standards of our accomplished band?" Elizabeth asked.

"I believe it will be challenging, but I am up to the effort if you will have me." He smiled broadly, revealing excellent teeth that only enhanced the warmth in is dark eyes.

Elizabeth glanced at Jane and Charlotte, both shrugged. "We shall be happy to have you, sir, and see if you are up to your promises."

Jane played the introduction for the second song. Mr. Wickham's rich baritone filled the room, as engaging and entrancing as his visage. Jane's fingers tangled and she stumbled over the next chord, quickly righting it and regaining her composure.

Elizabeth nearly missed her cue. Her eyes burnt and cheeks tingled. How impertinent she had been. Few men sang so well, and she had intimated he was not a worthy partner. Mama was right; her teasing would be her undoing. Perhaps, by some chance, he would not be too horribly offended by her flippant ways.

She fought to focus on the music, but the words blurred. How she envied Jane her occupation and her self-control. She never found herself in such humiliating circumstances.

A trickle of sweat slipped down Elizabeth's neck. Why did _she_ keep the room so beastly hot? Granted, Miss de Bourgh was delicate and draughts were apt to bring on her spells, but must everyone else be expected to suffer?

Jane's fingers wove the final chords and the notes faded away. Applause, greater than the others received, filled the chamber.

Mr. Wickham bowed and smiled. He clearly enjoyed displaying as much as Miss Bingley.

"Give us another."

"Yes, yes do."

"Shall we?" Mr. Wickham turned that stammer-inducing smile on her.

That smile could incite agreement for nearly anything. Elizabeth drew a deep breath. "Please go on without me. I must take some air." She curtsied and strode away before he could challenge her resolve. Mr. Darcy's gaze followed her out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Darcy knotted his fists at his side. Miss Elizabeth rushed past him and Georgiana without even a glance. Her face was flushed and glistening. Did the raging fire in both fireplaces affect her so—or was it Wickham?

The room settled down again and the musicians began another piece. At least Miss Bennet had the good sense and modesty to restrict herself to playing something she could do justice to instead of forcing them to endure a mediocre attempt at a more impressive work. There was much to be said for simple, singable pieces, even if they encouraged Wickham to display a little too much. That man could use a dose of humility.

What had he said to Miss Elizabeth?

Darcy looked over his shoulder and peered into the corridor. Old Long Tom, the butler, held her captive midway down the hall. Blast and botheration! He would terrorize the poor girl. Georgiana could barely face him even today. His towering height and somber mien had given her nightmares as a child.

Kind Miss Elizabeth did not deserve such inhospitable treatment, particularly after her sensitivity to Georgiana. Darcy taped Georgiana's shoulder and stepped back. She looked at him and he pointed through the door with his chin. Her eyes grew wide and she nodded vigorously.

He glanced at the center of the room. Aunt Catherine was deep in conversation with Collins. At least that addle-pate was good for keeping her from noticing his absence.

He escaped the parlor and stopped two steps outside the door. Long Tom was smiling! That simply was not possible. A strange barking, not quite a cough but unidentifiable as anything else, filled the corridor. Could it be? The butler was laughing—as was Miss Elizabeth.

What matter of enchantment was being woven here? A moment ago he would have wagered the butler incapable of mirth. Her sweet voice became clearer as he approached, but they both fell into laughter again before he could sketch the contents of their conversation.

Long Tom jerked upright and tugged his coat. His normal fierce mien snapped back into place so firmly his face might break if he were ever to wear another expression.

"Mr. Darcy?" Miss Elizabeth cocked her head.

She looked at him with such a peculiar, penetrating gaze, as though she saw things that none other did. What did she see? He should reply, but her spell stole away his words.

She blinked. Her lips quirking into an entirely unique, captivating expression.

No other woman had ever worn that expression in his company. How utterly delightful.

"You will not give away our secret will you?"

"Certainly not." He glanced up at the butler who did not even blink. Had he really just seen that man smile? Though that might have been imagined, the enchanting young woman before him was not. "Did you need some fresh air?"

"Ah…yes…I did." She looked aside.

What had Wickham done?

He tugged his coat straighter. "I am in need of some air myself. May I accompany you?"

The color on her cheeks deepened. "As you wish."

Darcy nodded at the butler who stepped aside, allowing them to pass. "The parlor is overwarm."

"It is for the comfort of Miss de Bourgh. I believe it is one of my father's recommendations." Her slippers barely whispered across the tile.

"My aunt is pleased to have a proper physician to care for Anne, now. She never considered surgeons and apothecaries entirely suitable to the task." No, they were sufficient for the lower classes, but because she could spend more money on a physician, that was necessarily better. At least Bennet seemed competent enough.

"No more pleased than my father is to have such an illustrious patroness. We are grateful that our cousin, Mr. Collins, introduced him to Lady Catherine." She did not look at him.

Would that she would train her charming gaze on him again.

"And I am grateful for your care toward my sister tonight."

She shrugged. "It was but a very small thing and simple enough to do."

"While I cannot argue in principle, few would have marked her distress or come to so quick a solution for it."

"If I may ask, she is just out, but naturally shy?"

"Yes. We—she—feels ill-qualified to recommend herself to strangers."

"That is her natural disposition, I suppose? She does not bear the timidity of one wounded by society."

"You are quite astute." Astonishingly astute. How long had it taken her to reach that conclusion? Minutes, seconds?

"She seems a very sweet girl and only in need of a little encouragement. And perhaps a touch of laughter to find her way across this transition."

"And that is your prescription, Miss Elizabeth? Is laughter your favorite tonic?"

"I confess it is." She signed. "I dearly love to laugh, unladylike though I know it is."

Miss Elizabeth's eyes remained resolutely ahead of her. He could not make out her expression. Why did she not look at him? No hint of a smile remained in her voice and she turned her face even farther away. Her shoulders were square, her back straight like a soldier, prepared for inspection.

"My poor mother experiences endless bouts with her nerves on my account. It is good she has a daughter like Jane to bring her comfort." Her tone fell flat. She spoke a simple statement of fact, nothing more and nothing less.

Obviously, she had been made to hear those sentiments over and over again. Not unlike poor Georgiana, subjected to Aunt Catherine's constant admonishments to speak more loudly and engage in conversation. Aunt Catherine's overbearing nature led her to try and control everything in her domain. That was easy enough to understand. But what kind of woman could be so cruelly displeased with a sensitive and gracious a daughter?

They reached the end of the corridor and turned back. When did the hall become so short?

"Will you be staying long in Kent?" she asked.

"Our current plan is three weeks, but I expect—"

"It will be closer to six before Lady Catherine grants you permission to leave?"

"Ah…yes…How came you to that conclusion?"

She shrugged. "She summoned us from London nearly two years ago and we have been in the shadow of Rosings Park ever since."

"That does not answer my question."

She peeked up at him. Oh, what pleasure there was when she granted the privilege of her gaze.

"Two years is sufficient time in which to become quite well acquainted with a person's manner and habits."

"So you have made a study of my aunt?" Of course she did, but the question was what she would have discerned in all this time. Heat inched up Darcy's neck. Did she think his character like hers?

"After a fashion, I suppose. But please do not infer any nefarious intentions on my part. When it is incumbent upon one to please a patron—"

Or a mother perhaps?

"—then seeking to understand them and their ways, their likes and dislikes, is, in my experience, a wise course of action."

Of course it was, but she did it in such a very different way than her cousin Collins whose ubiquitous scraping and bowing was truly nauseating.

"You think yourself a skilled observer and keen judge of character?" He certainly did.

"I would never take on such airs, sir. It would be both immodest and untrue."

"Yet you trust your own conclusions and take your own counsel in matters of …managing…those around you?"

"Not managing, sir. That is certainly not my place in life." The tips of her ears flushed bright red. "But I do try to minister to those needs which I have the means to attend."

"You discerned my sister's character quite accurately."

Three, four, five steps in silence. Was she trying to torture him? What had he said wrong?

Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "I know this is very forward of me. But I would very much like to further my acquaintance with her, if you do not object, sir."

Miss Elizabeth certainly was not of Georgiana's station. Aunt Catherine would not approve, though she might agree that Georgiana condescend to grace Miss Elizabeth with her superior presence, but they could hardly be— Oh balderdash! Why even bother considering Aunt Catherine? Miss Elizabeth was a gentleman's daughter and, more importantly, had the kind gentle nature Georgiana needed in a friend. What matter that she could not play pianoforte beautifully? "I think it would be quite pleasant for her to have a friend at Rosings."

"She seems lonely and not comfortable around Miss de Bourgh."

"I…how?"

"Miss Darcy chose a seat very far away from Miss de Bourgh and the other ladies of your party. She stayed very close to you—her protector, I expect."

Darcy stopped mid-step and stared at her.

She met his gaze and did not flinch as so many did when he furrowed his brow and frowned. "I meant no offense sir, as she clearly idolizes you, much as Miss de Bourgh does."

Darcy ran a finger along the inside of his collar. It would forever be a loss to the legal community that she could not sit at the bar.

"Clearly, you are worthy of such respect. With a man like Col. Fitzwilliam looking to you as his commander in this action and Mr. Bingley hanging off your every word, even emulating your dress—"

"No—"

"He has recently begun knotting his cravat the way you do—"

"Nonsense!"

"Look carefully and you will see, his valet has not yet mastered the craft of it. So it must be new to him. Given it is the way you knot your cravat, I can hardly see another reason."

His cheeks burned. She noticed his cravat? "I had not—"

"Of course not. To do so would be prideful—arrogant even—perhaps? With two worthy gentlemen who respect you so much, and several young ladies, it is obvious you are neither. Clearly ou put yourself out for their welfare and are apt to sacrifice your own happiness for your duty to others."

"And how came you by that conclusion?"

"You are here when you would rather be elsewhere."

"Excuse me? You cannot know that—"

She looked up at him with a curious, intense gaze. Her dark eyes sparkled in the candlelight, but she only saw him. No one had ever so quickly or accurately gauged him—not that any had ever tired.

He blinked. My, she was a handsome woman—not the ethereal beauty of her fair sister, but attractive in the way that would blossom through the years, deepening every day—

"Am I wrong, sir?"

Not wrong, but he would not confess so easily either. He shook his head, breaking her spell. "I come each spring to assist the steward with matters of the estate—"

"Despite your own estate requiring your attention as well." Her eyebrow arched high. "I expect you have worked many long nights in anticipation of this journey—you have dark shadows under your eyes and not of the kind caused by traveling with a large party of friends."

His jaw dropped. How could he answer? He continued their walk.

"Do not worry—your secret is most safe with me."

Somehow, he knew that was true. "You keep many secrets?"

"I must."

A few more steps and they were at the parlor. The corridor was definitely too short. How lacking in taste was Aunt Catherine to allow it to be so.

"I should return before my absence causes consternation. Thank you for your company." She dipped in a small courtesy and left him.

Darcy stood in the doorway as Miss Elizabeth rejoined Georgiana. His little sister would be in good hands. He turned back to the empty, lifeless corridor.

Long Tom appeared out of nowhere and stood very close, his brow furrowed. "May I help you, sir?"

A shiver skittered down the back of Darcy's neck. Miss Elizabeth had a protector.

"No, I just need some air." Darcy strode away.

The next morning, Elizabeth slept far later than usual. Lady Catherine kept them very late into the night when Colonel Fitzwilliam struck up a lively debate with _her_ regarding the Tudor monarchs. Not that it could be truly called a debate—no opinion but _her_ own most decided one, could be tolerated and they were not dismissed from her presence until each proclaimed _hers_ the only right and true opinion on the matter.

Elizabeth chuckled. What was Col. Fitzwilliam's true view on the issue? Most likely he actually agreed with Lady Catherine but simply could not resist toying with her entirely predictable responses. He was not a mean spirited sort of man, just one easily bored and in search of a spot of fun. _She_ would be a nearly irresistible temptation for a man of that sort. He did not notice the uncomfortable looks exchanged in his wake, nor the glares directed at him by his cousin. In fact, upon recollection, the only other one in the room who appeared to enjoy the entire affair was Mr. Wickham.

She pushed the counterpane aside and slid out of bed. It would have been pleasant to have Betsy's help to dress, but by now the poor harried girl would be hard at work elsewhere. If need be, she could repin her hair and change gowns later. She dressed and brushed her hair.

It was a good thing indeed that Col Fitzwilliam was not the one Lady Catherine had designated for Jane. Sweet, gentle Jane was too tender-hearted to enjoy his sort of amusement. Mr. Bingley, though, was surprisingly acceptable. He had spent the evening being most attentive to Jane. His manners were pleasing and his address most acceptable.

Was it possible for Elizabeth to agree with Lady Catherine? That might be too much to be borne. She chuckled and left her room.

Voices filtered up from the morning room. Kitty and Lydia must have risen early in hopes of hearing details of last night's dinner. She paused and cocked her head. Yes, it was them, talking over Mama as she regaled them with details. The gowns, the lace, the accomplishments, and 'oh, the company was so very very fine!' There must be some way to suggest Lady Catherine extend the invitation to the younger Bennet girls as well. It was too cruel that they be kept from such delightful diversions.

Elizabeth pinched her temples. If she had wanted quiet this morning, she should have risen earlier and taken her regular morning walk. Nothing to be done about it now. She freshened up her smile—Mama would ill-tolerate any other expression—and pushed open the morning room door.

"You are quite the lay-a-bed this morning." Mama inspected her and nodded fractionally.

"You are always up so early, we feared you might be unwell." Jane patted the chair beside her.

"Good morning Mama, Papa." Elizabeth scooted around the table and sat beside Jane.

Papa peered up from his paper and nodded.

"I am quite well, Jane. Thank you." She yawned. "I am not accustomed to so much excellent companionship. The wee hours do not agree with me so well, I suppose."

Mama turned a stern eye on her, but her voice was mild as warm milk and nearly as appealing. "You are feeling well-rested now?"

"Very much so, Mama."

"That is very good to hear."

Mama smiled that smile that made Elizabeth want to scream.

She forced her own smile to remain in place, though her cheeks ached. "Would you pass me the workbasket, Kitty?"

Kitty handed her the hamper. "Were the other young ladies very musical?"

Elizabeth took Papa's shirt from the pile and threaded her needle.

"Indeed they were." Mama patted the table. "Miss Darcy, in particular, was most brilliant on the pianoforte, although—" she turned her gaze on Elizabeth. "I did not much like the way you jumped in to turn pages for her. You stood in such a way that she could barely be seen behind you. Miss Bingley remarked upon it several times. She found it quite shocking how you drew so much attention to yourself."

Elizabeth jabbed her finger with her needle. Blast! It would not do to get blood on Papa's shirt.

"But Mama," Jane leaned forward, blocking Mama's glare. "Miss Darcy told me how much she appreciated—"

"Of course she did. She is a fine lady with excellent manners. What else was she to say?"

"Miss de Bourgh would have spoken her mind." Lydia giggled behind her hands.

"She certainly would. But remember, she is permitted to do so. She is, after all, the heiress of Rosings Park. She is entitled to speak her mind, even as Lady Catherine is."

"Lady Catherine did not object to Lizzy—" Jane said.

"I suppose this is possible. But I dare say it is more likely she kept those opinions to herself out of condescension toward your father—and Mr. Collins."

Oh no, _the lecture—_You Should Have Been Mistress of the Parsonage— was about to begin its five hundredth iteration.

"What of the man she chose for you Jane?" Lydia asked.

"Oh, Mr. Bingley!" Mama threw her hands up.

Elizabeth bit her lip. Could she be so fortunate that Mama would be so easily distracted?

"What manners! What elegance! And he has five thousand a year. Five thousand! He just purchased an estate in Hertfordshire—"

"Is it near the one Mr. Collins will inherit?" Kitty asked.

Elizabeth cringed.

"I understand it is but five miles from Longbourn." Mama said through her teeth, fixing her scowl on Elizabeth.

"But was he handsome?" Lydia fluttered her eyelids.

"He was very handsome." Jane blushed. "Was he not—Mama?"

"Yes, he was and he paid particular attention to you—especially after you exhibited on the piano."

"You played?" Kitty's eyes widened. "How could you follow a performance like Miss Darcy's?"

"Both Miss Darcy and Miss Bingley were very accomplished. I did not compete with them. Lizzy and Charlotte—"

"And that delightful Mr. Wickham!" Mama wagged her finger.

"They sang whilst I played."

"And delighted us all." Mama glanced at Elizabeth, "I am pleased that you did your duty and excused yourself after fulfilling your obligation to Lady Catherine. With fewer singers around the piano, Mr. Bingley could much more easily gaze upon Jane. It was very astute of you to notice it would be so."

Elizabeth's cheeks burned and her hands trembled. She jabbed her finger again. Only Mama could offer such a compliment. Surely she was paying her penance for not having risen earlier. She would not make that mistake again anytime soon.

Hill appeared in the doorway, bearing a note on a silver tray. "It just come from Rosings, sir." He jumped up and unfolded the paper.

"Miss de Bourgh is unwell. I must go. Lizzy attend me." He dashed out.

Elizabeth laid the shirt atop the work basket and escaped after him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 10**

Papa's satchel and her work bag were waiting on the front steps long before the gig was hitched and ready to go. By the time it was brought around, Mama confronted them at the front door.

"I do not understand why you do not take Jane to assist you." She followed them out the door and down the steps.

"Jane has not the constitution for the sick room." Papa loaded his satchel and Elizabeth's bag under the seat of the gig.

"She can sit with Miss de Bourgh as well as Lizzy can."

"But if she does so, she will not be available for Mr. Bingley's attentions." Papa turned aside and rolled his eyes.

"I suppose, but she will be so much closer to him at Rosings, and available if Lady Catherine cares to invite…"

"But Mama, if the surgeon comes to let blood, or there are skin eruptions to dress, or she casts up her accounts—"

Mama screwed up her face. "Must you bring up such unsavory—"

Papa pinched the bridge of his nose. "That is precisely the point, Mrs. Bennet. I am not making a social call and those 'unsavory' aspects, as you call them, are part and parcel of why I am going to Rosings."

Mama huffed—and was that a dainty stamp of her foot?

"You do not wish Lady Catherine or her guests to think of Jane, there in the sick room? I can hardly imagine what Mr. Bingley—"

Mama harrumphed. "When you put it that way, I have no choice but to agree."

"I knew you would see it my way." Papa settled his hat firmly in place and handed Elizabeth into the gig.

"While you are there, Lizzy, be sure to pay proper attention to that Mr. Wickham fellow Lady Catherine has chosen for you. He is to be a barrister, and it would be useful to have one in the family. Oh, and make sure you take every opportunity to compliment Jane to Mr. Bingley. I do not want him to forget about her in her absence."

"I am certain he could not do that. Jane is far too remarkable."

Mama scowled.

"But I will be certain to mention her at every opportunity." She would of course have so many opportunities to do so as she would be constantly in the presence of the healthy denizens of Rosings. After all, Miss de Bourgh's illness was of no concern at all. She must not grumble under her breath, that would only prolong Mama's leave-takings.

Papa clucked his tongue and flicked the reins. The gig lurched into motion. Mama pulled back and sputtered as they drove away.

Elizabeth looked away from Mama and fixed her gaze down the road toward Rosings.

Papa tapped her knee with his. "You have not let your mother upset you now, have you?"

Elizabeth pressed her lips tight and shrugged.

"You know there is nothing to be upset about."

"That is what you tell me." He told her no less than two or three times a week, little difference that it made.

"And so it is true. Do not go all missish on me—that is not why I bring you along."

"I understand that."

He tried to catch her gaze, but she turned aside. She had tried once to explain, but he did not, would not understand. What good to belabor the point further?

"Lizzy?"

Must he use that tone?

She sighed. "You must grant me, she can be rather difficult." She tucked a bit of hair under her bonnet and dropped her voice. "I am certain she does not like me very well."

He patted her knee. "That is just your stepmother's way. She means nothing by it. You know she has a hard time expressing softer sentiments.

"She has no difficulty with Jane or Lydia."

"Because they are most like her—"

"Jane is nothing like her."

"But she has a soft, gentle disposition."

"That makes her easy to esteem, whilst I—"

"You are more like your father, dear, and I fear that will always cause Mrs. Bennet great vexation. It seems it is difficult enough having one like me in the house, but two might be construed as too many."

Elizabeth swallowed hard. Why continue the conversation? Nothing would ever make him concede that Mama's barbed remarks and cutting words bled her heart as surely as a surgeon bled a vein. Somehow, she was not certain such bleeding was the properest medicine for her wounded soul.

At least she was out of the house, possibly for several days, perhaps even a fortnight or more, depending upon the severity of Miss de Bourgh's episode. She would have to endure Rosings, but for now it was better than Mama.

At Rosings, a young groom took the gig from Papa and Long Tom let them in.

His face was even more somber than usual. He closed his eyes and shook his head when Elizabeth met his gaze.

Miss de Bourgh was very ill today indeed.

"Shall I see Miss de Bourgh directly, or does Lady Catherine wish an audience first?" Papa removed his hat and handed it to the closest footman.

"Lady Catherine awaits you in the morning room." Tom turned and strode to the morning room in steps so long they had to scurry to keep up.

Long Tom announced Papa, but Elizabeth waited in the hall.

"Is it very bad this time?" She craned her neck to seek his eyes.

"Mrs. Jenkins and Dawson have been up all night with her. They are quite alarmed."

"Have they been giving her the willow bark tincture Papa ordered?"

"No. Mrs. Jenkins does not believe in it. The apothecary says it is useless for rheumatic fever, though he is happy enough to sell it." He snorted.

"Is there any in the house?"

"Mrs. Jenkins poured out the last bottle and replaced it with a mix of brandy and poppy tea. She and the apothecary believe it more…ah…efficacious…for Miss de Bourgh's complaints."

"Which does Miss de Bourgh precious little good." Elizabeth clutched her temples.

"As you say, Miss."

"So you have discussed this behavior with them."

"Mrs. Jenkins is certain she is doing what is in Miss de Bourgh's best interest." Tom's voice took on a vaguely sharp edge. He ran the staff with tight expectations, but these ladies were outside his influence and he clearly did not approve.

Elizabeth slapped her forehead. "I shall speak with her myself then."

"Now?" The corner of his lips turned up just a mite.

"No, it will have to wait. Call for the gig to be brought around. Papa will insist on more willow bark tincture and the sooner it is here, the better it will be for all of us."

"Shall I arrange a driver?"

"No. That will take far too long and I fear tempers will be short. The faster I return, the better it will be."

"You know the Mistress does not approve—"

Of course _she _did not approve. "In the interest of her daughter's welfare, I believe she will make an exception."

Long Tom nodded and signaled a footman to carry his message to the stable. He led her to a side door where the gig soon appeared. With a ghost of a frown, he handed her up.

"Tell Papa I discovered they were out of willow bark and I went on ahead to the apothecary."

He bowed. "Very good."

"You look very stiff this morning. Do you need more liniment for your back?"

He squared his shoulders and looked away.

"I have asked you to tell me, not leave me to guess," she muttered. Stubborn irritating— "Does cook still have her stomach tincture?"

He shook his head.

"Tom, I must make haste. Will you please simply tell me all the needs in the household without making me go through them one by one?"

He drew a neatly written list from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Why did you not simply give this to me first?" Elizabeth lifted her hand. "Wait, I know. _She_ does not wish for you to disturb Dr. Bennet with the complaints of the staff."

He nodded slowly.

"But I am not Dr. Bennet and not bothering him either. I am going to the apothecary who is quite good enough for them."

"Yes, Miss."

"I am sorry that my father's presence at Rosings means the apothecary rarely visits here anymore."

He grunted. It was not something Tom could easily bring up with Lady Catherine. But perhaps Elizabeth might suggest that the steward make arrangements. One more thing she would have to remember.

She gathered the reins in her palm. "I shall make it a point to ask you for this list in the future."

"Thank you." He bowed again.

She clucked her tongue and flicked the reins. None of her sisters knew how to drive the gig. Lydia and Kitty did not even ride. Mama preferred to forget that Elizabeth could do either. They were not the kind of ladylike accomplishments she preferred her daughters to acquire. But in the country, they were useful.

Papa would appreciate her preemptive drive into town. She would bring back a few additional preparations just in case. If Miss de Bourgh's episode were truly bad, he would want a host of other items. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, trying to picture what he called for the last time.

Lady Catherine would probably scold her for riding out alone—that would take the better part of an hour—during which time Papa would be free to tend to Miss de Bourgh unfettered by his patroness' advice and observations. Doubtless that was Papa's true purpose in bringing her with him.

The horse shook its head and looked over its shoulder. A rider approached.

"Miss Elizabeth?" Mr. Wickham atop a tall chestnut horse maneuvered alongside her gig, matching her pace.

"Good morning Mr. Wickham." He looked quite smart this morning in a dark green coat, crisp cravat, and well brushed beaver. The knot in his cravat was not the same as Mr. Darcy's.

"Out driving for pleasure this fine morning?"

"No, my father was called to Rosings for Miss de Bourgh. I am on an errand for him."

"I did not realize she was ill this morning."

"How very odd. The whole household is generally alerted when she has a spell that they may tread very carefully so as not to disturb her."

Mr. Wickham flushed, but only barely, and his eyes twinkled. How singular. He was caught in a fabrication and was pleased about it?

"You have caught me, Miss Elizabeth. After dinner last night, Hurst and I hid ourselves away in a distant drawing room in a part of the house where we would bother no one, and enjoyed our hostess' fine collection of port."

"But not her company."

"Indeed. Though I would say that only enhanced our enjoyment." The corner of his lips turned up. "You do not agree?"

"Whatever faults you or any other might find with Lady Catherine, she is my father's patroness and her attentions have been a boon to my family."

"So you will not hear any criticism of the great lady?"

"I will not engage in it myself, nor will I encourage conversations which perpetuate any disrespect toward _her_."

"You are exceedingly loyal."

"Loyalty is not the issue here, sir. Courtesy is."

"You say then, you are not loyal to Lady Catherine? Your family is in her service, but does not declare their fealty?"

A knot grew between her shoulders. "Our fealty is not the topic of conversation, sir. I see you are quite clever with words, but I will not allow you to divert one issue with another. The only thing to which I speak is the issue of courtesy, which is owed between one level of society and another."

"So you say you owe her a debt—"

Oh that he would stop talking! "We all owe one another a debt of common politeness and dignified treatment."

"Which is why even the grumpy old butler, who has never spoken to anyone in his entire life, speaks to you?" His eyebrows climbed his forehead in a most unappealing fashion.

"I do not appreciate either your tone or your implications, Mr. Wickham." She urged her horse faster, but it shied and balked.

Another horseman approached. "Wickham!"

Mr. Darcy here as well?

Her horse startled and jerked the gig forward.

"Steady now." Elizabeth pushed her left hand down and pulled up the reins with her right, "No need for a to-do." Her horse returned to her control and walked on.

"Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I had no idea your horse—" Mr. Darcy said.

"No worries, sir. He is generally a steady animal, but not accustomed to so many other horses so close."

"Perhaps I should go then?"

"Mr. Wickham was just leaving; there is no need." She flashed a quick glare at Mr. Wickham.

"Indeed I was. Good day, then." He touched the brim of his hat and rode off.

Oh, that he would take the knots in her stomach with him as he rode away!

Darcy watched him disappear down the road.

"You are an accomplished driver." And a beautiful one—her bearing elegant and strong, with reins and whip in hand. The wind rippled the edge of her bonnet, revealing the soft pink blush on the crest of her cheeks.

"That is a very kind of you." She turned her face aside just enough that her bonnet hid it once more. How beastly unfair.

"You will find I am not apt to make idle remarks, kind or not. Most women I know would have been unable to keep their horse under control and those that could, would not have maintained such poise in the process."

"I am pleased to know my driving meets your standards. While I would not attempt a four-in-hand, I find I enjoy the freedom and usefulness our little equipage provides." She peeked at him.

How delightful. Who knew a compliment might be so delightfully rewarded?

"I must agree. It is quite needful for a lady in the country to be able to manage a horse well. I have encouraged my sister to learn."

"My mother does not share your opinion, but I am glad your sister has your support."

She approved of his opinion! That should not please him so, but it did. Too many elegant females fawned on his sentiments and he could not be rid of them fast enough.

Yet, Miss Bennet's girlish blush at his compliment thrilled him like a school boy. Dear God, he had complimented her! Good that Fitzwilliam was not here or he would never have any peace again.

He cleared his throat. "Did Wickham trouble you?"

"No, sir, not at all. Why do you ask?"

"You prevaricate."

"No—"

"Look at your feet. You are not the only keen observer."

She glanced down at the floor boards. Her toes were pressed hard into the wood, but her heels were lifted and widely splayed.

"A horsewoman as skilled as yourself would never drive in that attitude unless quite distracted."

"Oh!" She tucked her feet neatly side by side.

"And obviously it was not your horse that caused your discomposure."

"You are most astute, sir." She looked away.

The turn of her head and the height of his mount conspired to afford him such a view! Sweat prickled under his cravat. She was lovely—and would be mortified if she knew what he saw—or that he was looking in the first place!

By Jove! What kind of a man was he?

"It appears now, sir, _you_ are distressed."

When had she turned to peer up at him with such concern in her dark eyes?

"I…I am troubled for what way Wickham might have imposed upon you."

"It is interesting that you so quickly assume any perturbation I might experience might be connected with your friend."

"Is it not?"

"Might I not be alarmed for Miss de Bourgh's health or Lady Catherine's state of mind at her daughter's latest spell? Perhaps I am anxious that my father will not be able to help her and the possibility of Lady Catherine's great displeasure. Or I could be troubled by my sister's sentiments toward the young gentleman Lady Catherine declares she should like—"

"Miss Bennet does not find Mr. Bingley pleasing?"

"I said no such thing. But since you are so disquieted, I will set your mind at ease. Jane says little, even to me, but I am certain she approves of him very much."

Darcy grunted. Miss Bennet's calm demeanor was difficult to discern, but if her sister was certain, he could rest assured Bingley would not be rejected by another one of his 'angels'.

"You are protective of Mr. Bingley."

"And you are a woman of many concerns."

"You assume too much. I merely suggested alternative explanations—"

"Plausible alternatives because they also weigh upon your mind."

"Why were you so disturbed your friend might have offended me?"

"I am not sure _friend_ is the correct description."

"Indeed. Has he harmed you in some way, though I hardly see it likely, given he has accompanied you to your Aunt's."

"I cannot say he has harmed me. We grew up together. He is the son of my father's steward. We were great friends as children."

"But now your stations in life separate you? An up and coming barrister is not worthy of your association?" Her eyes narrowed.

Had she faced such prejudice because of her father's gentlemanly profession?

"He told you he was to be a barrister?"

"No, the intelligence comes from Miss Bingley."

"Who has it from him no doubt." He grumbled under his breath. Why should it be any different here in Kent?

"So it is not true?"

"No. He applied for admission to the Inn of Courts, but it is unlikely he will be accepted."

"You have withdrawn your support?"

"It is not the loss of my support that is at issue. A few very unwise dalliances have cost him a life at the bar."

"I see." A hint of color rose from her neckline. "I did not realize."

Air rushed into his lungs. When had he begun to hold his breath?

"I imagine not all fathers can be moved to overlook an insult when petitioned to do so by a wealthy patron." An odd note crept into her voice.

Was Dr. Bennet one who did? He stared at her, but she kept her face and eyes resolutely ahead, unwilling perhaps to reveal anything, more.

Her color deepened. Perhaps she regretted illuminating this much.

He fingered the edge of his cravat. "So now, the best he can hope for is to become a solicitor. But he has become accustomed to Pemberley and is reluctant to leave. He has applied to me for the position of steward."

"And you are unsure?"

Darcy sighed. He had not even spoken to Fitzwilliam of this. How had she drawn this from him and why was he willing to tell her? There would be no good reason but that ending the conversation would be a far worse punishment.

"I am."

"Because of his dalliances?"

"If he will treat women, no matter what their station, in so cavalier a manner, it is difficult for me to trust him with the welfare of my tenants."

She glanced at him. "He and I just had an…instructive conversation on our opinions regarding the duty of courtesy one to another even in the face of…"

"…differences of station?"

"Yes, that is an excellent way to put it." She rewarded him with a smile that must never be turned on another.

Where had that thought come from? "I expect he was unconvinced of the necessity?"

"Indeed he was not. He was very clever in his conversation never to precisely say anything—though I found his meaning quite clear."

"That is very like him. There is ever just enough doubt as to his real meaning."

"—so most believe exactly what he would wish them to believe?"

"Precisely." He nodded.

"If I may be so bold as to ask, why did he come to Kent with you and your friends?"

"I appointed my Aunt's steward a number of years ago—"

"Mr. Michaels is a fine, fair man."

"I am glad you approve." Surprisingly glad. A warm place spread in his belly with her approval. "I thought to have Wickham sit under him for some months."

"To learn, or to earn Mr. Michaels' approval?"

Darcy chuckled. "Both I suppose. If Michaels does endorse him—"

"He will not."

"You are very certain."

"I am. I have had many an occasion to speak with him and he has not patience for those who are not plain spoken. I doubt he would be pleased to have such a man work with him for even a few weeks, much less months." She grumbled under her breath, almost too quietly for him to hear.

"You do not approve of Mr. Wickham either?"

She ducked away again. "It is not my place to approve or disapprove of your friends or your employees, sir."

"Forgive me—that was an unseemly question. Would you welcome his attentions—"

She gasped.

"—to one of your sisters?" Good, she did not wish them for herself. Why did that please him so much?

"No, sir…I would not. But that decision is not one for me to make. It rests with my father. My two youngest sisters do not mingle in society yet. Do you know Mr. Wickham to be interested in girls not yet out?"

"No, at least not to my knowledge."

She released a deep breath, her shoulders easing slightly. "So what will you do?"

"I am not certain."

"Caught between loyalty to your people and to your friend?"

"Very well put."

"I do not envy you sir. It is certainly a gentleman's dilemma with no clear or easy answer. I must beg you to excuse me though, for we come upon the apothecary's which is my destination."

He tipped his hat. "Good day then, Miss Elizabeth."

He should have ridden off, but he stayed to watch her safely inside. Why had he told her so much?

Lady Catherine was planning to match her with Wickham, but clearly Miss Elizabeth would have none of it. No doubt scenes unpleasant to all would arise.

He stroked his chin. If he could come by some means by which to send Wickham away, Miss Elizabeth would be safe from both unwanted attentions and parental disapproval. And he might be able to enjoy further conversations with Miss Elizabeth without Wickham's intrusions as well.

He turned his horse back toward Rosings. What need could there be for Wickham to leave Kent?

The apothecary was a decent enough fellow, and always pleased to see her. Of course, she usually had a long list of items to purchase in her hand and that surely contributed to the warmth of her welcome. He chatted on about all matters of local gossip—for he, not the old women of the village, was the surest source of information—as he filled her order. She listened dutifully, though she dismissed most of the intelligence. News of putrid infection at the Marsh house was worthy of note, though.

She scribbled a note to herself on the back of the list. Papa must be informed. Every precaution must be taken to protect Miss de Bourgh. The poor girl seemed to draw illness and infection to herself with some unknown affinity for it. Papa himself had noted it, and since she had been kept isolated from cases of illness as he had suggested, she suffered fewer spells.

The apothecary helped her load her packages, which nearly filled the floor of the gig, and she made haste back to Rosings.

Long Tom waited outside the kitchen door and helped her down.

"Lady Catherine has learned of your errand and wishes to see you immediately." He loaded packages into his arms.

"I am little surprised. However, I must get this and this," she took two boxes from him," to my father immediately. Moreover, I have news for him of vital importance."

"Her Ladyship wishes to see you immediately."

"I will brave her wrath, Tom. My concern is first for the health and welfare of Miss de Bourgh. Though piqued, _she_ always comes to agree my priorities are correct."

"As you say, Miss. It just pains us all to hear you stand another tongue lashing from _her_."

She squeezed his wrist. "That is very dear of you—all of you, and I cannot tell you how much your concern means. But my mother and her ladyship are cut from the same cloth. I have a great deal of experience in weathering their displeasure. Now, please, see that these are distributed to the staff. I have each one labeled according to the list you provided me. If you have any questions—"

"I will seek you out myself. No one will be seen troubling Dr. Bennet."

"Very good." She straightened her pelisse. "Into the lioness' den, I suppose."

If Lady Catherine awaited her presence, then _she_ would be in her throne…ah…drawing room and the way to Miss de Bourgh's chambers should be clear. The servant's stairs would be a safer choice, but she could not get to them without passing the drawing room. The main stairs it would be.

She held her breath and dashed upstairs. Years of avoiding Mama paid off as her footfalls were nearly silent along the marble steps.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Miss de Bourgh's door was cracked open, but no light came through. Her eyes must be sensitive again, or at least she was convinced that they were. How a body was to improve in a dark, hot stuffy room eluded her, but Papa was the doctor, and a good one at that. She must not question his wisdom.

She slipped in past the maid who stood ready by the door. The blazing fire behind the firescreen lit the room, but only dimly. Tiny beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. Elizabeth shrugged off her pelisse.

Papa looked over his shoulder and scowled. He stalked to her and pulled her out by the elbow. "How dare you disappear when I most needed you? Where on earth have you been? What possessed you—"

She pressed boxes into his hands. Did he notice them trembling? "I learned there was no willow bark tincture in the house and that a number of other preparations were not in adequate supply."

He lifted the lid off the first box.

"I have been to the apothecary. I bought a double supply of the tincture and good measures of everything else you recommend for Miss de Bourgh."

"And how do you know I will not—"

She straightened her shoulders. Her courage always rose with every attempt to intimidate her—or at least that is what she told herself. "Papa, you always recommend the same course of treatments for her. Even if you chose to add something different, is it not best that she need not wait for these?"

"I do not like you anticipating me, Lizzy."

"Bringing you what you always require is not anticipating you."

He rolled his eyes.

What a disagreeable expression. Was he so angry with her or was it Miss de Bourgh's condition—

"You drove there alone, I suppose?"

"I did."

"You know Lady Catherine—"

"Does not approve. I am very well aware of it and I am certain she shall remind me of it soon enough. I saw little remedy for it though. It is not as if I could command one of Rosings' servants to attend me. Besides, I needed to ensure there would be sufficient space to bring back everything in the gig."

"Everything? I see only these two modest boxes."

"The butler gave me a list—"

"Lizzy!" He lifted an open hand and raked his thinning hair.

"What do you want me to do? There are servants here who need—"

"They are not your concern."

"How is it not? It is your fault they do not see—"

"Precisely how is it my fault?"

"They cannot speak to you, by her ladyship's decree, and the apothecary rarely comes now because you are here instead."

"Those are not my concerns—"

"So the servants should simply suffer because you are come to care for Miss de Bourgh?"

"I must focus upon my patient. I cannot possibly attend to—"

She squeezed her eyes shut. Did he truly believe what he was saying? "I have important news regarding the welfare of your patient, sir."

"And what exactly would that be?"

"A putrid infection has broken out at the Marsh farm. Two of the three children are already sick with it. The oldest girl is a scullery maid here."

"Blast and botheration! That is precisely—"

"I will see to it that Tom keeps her from the house until the infection has run its course."

"And three weeks beyond that. I will not take any chances. She draws infection to herself so easily."

"I will make certain of it, sir."

"Miss Elizabeth?" Miss de Bourgh's voice barely made it past the door.

Elizabeth rushed past Papa to the imposing poster bed. Curtains were drawn across three sides and blankets piled high over the counterpane. Miss de Bourgh barely peeked out above the mounds of wool.

"I am here Miss de Bourgh. I brought the medicines Papa ordered for you."

"The tonic Mrs. Jenkins gives me does not taste the same as I remember." She rolled toward Elizabeth, but did not quite make it to her side. The heavy blankets fought her back.

"I will check and make certain all is right with our tonics."

"Mrs. Jenkins complained of a headache…this morning. She has been confined to the other side of the house."

"I will see to her—"

"No, Dawson can do that well enough. I am without…my companion…until she recovers. I want you to stay with me until she does."

Would that she could endure Mrs. Jenkins' headache instead. "I do not think she will be away from you that long. Besides, I am not an appropriate companion for you."

"You are gently born and know how to manage my medicine. You can read to me and play pianoforte—well enough—to give me distraction from my suffering. I do not need a chaperone or someone to improve my accomplishments now. I need comfort which you are aptly able to provide."

Papa cleared his throat. "You mother is well able to spare you and I would rest easier knowing you were here."

She jumped and turned toward him. He held up a small cup of the reddish willow bark tincture.

"If Papa thinks it wise, then of course I will stay until Mrs. Jenkins recovers."

"Do be a good girl then and tell Mama it is all settled." Had Miss de Bourgh's voice been any stronger, Elizabeth would have balked. But it was a threadbare whisper that could only engender pity. Though Miss de Bourgh was apt to complain and do so loudly, for the moment, her suffering was genuine.

"Immediately," Elizabeth curtsied and glanced at Papa.

The lines and shadows on his face spoke what he could not. Miss de Bourgh was seriously ill.

Elizabeth hurried out. She would need to send word to Mama to send things for them both, perhaps a fortnight's worth. She squeezed her temples. If Providence smiled upon her, it would be far less. Trading Mama's company for a fortnight or even a month of Miss de Bourgh's may not have been her most advantageous choice, but a change was as good as a rest, no?

Tom met her at the foot of the stairs.

"You have a new scullery maid here?" she asked.

"The girl from the Marsh farm?"

"Yes. She must not come into the house until everyone there is well again and three weeks beyond that. Papa's orders."

"Was it her—"

"We cannot know for certain, but Papa believes it a wise precaution."

"Lady Catherine will be most displeased."

"I know. I fear she might punish the entire family. You know how agitated she becomes when she discovers anyone has had the lapse in judgment to become ill in her domain."

"I shall discuss it with the housekeeper. I am certain we can find some way to protect the family."

"Thank you."

"Her ladyship awaits you in the drawing room. She is not pleased."

"I expect not." Elizabeth smoothed her hands over her skirt. "Well, I can avoid it no longer, so into the lioness' den." She glanced up at Long Tom.

The edges of his lips twitched. "I will announce you."

Whatever had she done to deserve two such women in her life? Mr. Collins assured his congregation that life would not bring more than one could bear, but waiting on Lady Catherine's wrath did give her pause to wonder if it was true.

Long Tom ushered her in.

"Lady Catherine." She curtsied as deeply as she could. It usually mollified _her _ire.

"You have kept me waiting far too long, Miss Elizabeth Bennet." Lady Catherine perched on her throne. All she needed was a scepter and a ruff and she might be mistaken for a portrait of Queen Elizabeth.

"I beg your pardon, your ladyship."

"Need I ask why you were so tardy?"

No, certainly not, but that would be far too easy an escape. "I was on an urgent errand for my father."

"Before he even sent you?"

"I have assisted him many times and I well understand what he requires. It seemed to me most imperative that Miss de Bourgh received her tonics as quickly as possible."

"How did you know she did not have them?"

"I spoke to the servants."

"So my servants are in the habit of gossiping about my daughter's condition?"

"No, my lady, not at all. I inquired of the butler on what stocks remained. I am certain he answered me only because it was for my father." She bit her tongue. She hated to lie, but what choice did she have?

"I am surprised he spoke to you at all."

"He is devoted to Miss de Bourgh's welfare. Nothing else would motivate it, I am sure."

Lady Catherine's eyes narrowed behind her sharp nose. "I was told that you drove the gig to the apothecary."

Why was there always one who hurried to report her every action to _her_?

"I did, your ladyship."

"You well know my feelings on that matter."

"I felt the errand had the utmost urgency."

"Have I not adequately instructed you on the impropriety of young women driving alone? Or perhaps you were not attentive—"

"Indeed you have and I have been most attentive to your instructions."

"And yet you have disobeyed me."

"It is not something I do easily, madam."

"And yet you have done so repeatedly." She drummed her fingers along the arm of her throne.

"In each case, it has been on an urgent errand for the comfort and healing of Miss de Bourgh. Her welfare is the only consideration that could induce me to disobey you."

Lady Catherine huffed and screwed her lips into a peculiar expression that was normally a good sign. "You, of course, are aware that there is no other possible reason you could offer and be excused my wrath."

"Yes, madam."

"What did you obtain from the apothecary?"

She removed a wrinkled paper from her pocket and passed it to _her._

"All of this for Anne?"

"No, my Lady. The first six items were for her. The rest were for members of your staff. To alleviate their temptation to approach Papa."

_She_ worked her lips into six variations of a frown, finally settling into the one that most creased her lips and cheeks. "You are remarkably good at avoiding blame, young woman."

Elizabeth dropped her gaze to the floor. Mama might tolerate her occasional impertinence, but it would not do to exhibit it to Lady Catherine. "Miss de Bourgh has asked me to stay with her whilst Mrs. Jenkins recovers from her headache. I do not believe Mrs. Jenkins will be abed long enough to warrant me taking her stead."

Lady Catherine grunted. "But you did not refuse."

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of Miss de Bourgh's."

"As it should be. I shall order a room be made ready for you."

"You are very good to me, your ladyship."

"Yes I am."

Elizabeth pressed her lips together very hard. "Is there anything else you require?"

"Yes. Should you need to drive out again, I shall inform the butler that a scullery maid is to be sent with you. I shall accept no excuses on this point. You are a gentleman's daughter and I shall not have it said that an errand for me caused you to behave as less than one."

"Yes, madam." She swallowed back her sigh. How horribly inconvenient was this going to be?

"Moreover, whilst you are here at Rosings, I expect you to pay appropriate attentions to Mr. Wickham. I have deemed him an appropriate suitor for you."

"Excuse me, Aunt Catherine?"

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder. Mr. Darcy stood in the doorway, hat in hand, coat covered with road dust. Sweat trickled along his temple. Why would he be reporting to Lady Catherine after a long hard ride?

"Darcy? Why are you standing there is that condition?"

"I just spoke with Dr. Bennet; he asked me to convey the news to you that there is a putrid infection at the Marsh farm."

She slammed her hands on the chair arms. "How dare they! I have given specific instruction that no one— "

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. How good of Papa to insure she could not handle the matter quietly. "They cannot choose when they will take ill or to what disease they will succumb, your Ladyship."

"My Anne must be protected at all costs."

"Please, your ladyship, rest assured, she shall. My father has already given orders that the farm be isolated—"

"And you have not informed me?"

"I already spoke to the butler and measures are already underway."

Lady Catherine ground her teeth and grumbled under her breath.

"Shall I tell him to send the apothecary to the farm? Hastening their recovery can only be a good thing for Miss de Bourgh."

_She_ scowled and flicked her hand. "Yes, yes, make it so."

"Immediately, madam."

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. "I just learned that Mr. Wickham and Mr. Bingley were out fishing today and spent the day on that property."

"Keep them away from my house." Lady Catherine half rose in her throne, her color high. If she did not calm soon, Papa might have a second patient to attend.

"I do not believe they had any contact with anyone on the farm." Mr. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth.

"I believe Papa would prefer to err on the side of caution. It might be best that the gentlemen keep from Rosings until it is clear they did not draw illness to themselves."

"Yes, yes." Lady Catherine resettled in her seat.

"I will have—"

"No, no, Miss Elizabeth, you need not trouble yourself. I will speak to Bingley's valet and have their trunks prepared. But where shall I have them sent?" Mr. Darcy said.

"To the Bennets."

"Excuse me?" Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth said simultaneously.

"Miss Elizabeth will be here with Anne, your mother will have room for guests."

"I…I suppose that is true." Elizabeth's face prickled.

"Then what more discussion is necessarily?"

The audacity! The overbearing, arrogant—

"Do not stand there so stupidly, both of you, go and make it so. These are your friends, Darcy. I expect you to manage them. Go, now." She waved her hands toward the door.

Elizabeth curtsied and hurried out, Mr. Darcy on her heels.

Long Tom intercepted them just outside the door.

"You heard everything?" she asked.

"I will make preparations. You will write your mother?"

"It will be better received from Papa, I expect. I shall ask him to pen the note."

"I will have a man waiting to deliver it." Tom bowed and strode away.

"He is nothing if not efficient." Mr. Darcy's gaze followed the butler down the corridor. "He has been here as long as I can remember."

"I expect his singular appearance accounts for getting the position here, but his diligence and patience has kept him at Rosings. I imagine there are other great houses who would be pleased to have him."

Mr. Darcy looked at her. The heat returned to her cheeks. Why did his gaze do that to her?

"I suppose, I never considered that. He is the kind of servant one assumes will always be with the house." He rubbed his knuckles across his lips. "I apologize for my Aunt's imposition upon your family's hospitality. Bingley and Wickham," he said the name with the tone one described a soggy pudding, "are part of my party and I feel responsible—"

"Do not trouble yourself—"

He turned toward her, standing a half step closer than proper. His dark eyes were flecked with gold, trained on her with an intensity she had never encountered apart from someone upbraiding her. He smelled of sandalwood, sweat and horse, scents of a man who took himself and his responsibilities serious.

"Do not brush my concerns aside so lightly, Miss Elizabeth. Your family owes me nothing and to impose on them thoughtlessly is abhorrent to me." He leaned a little closer. "I will be happy to install them at the local inn."

How different he was from his aunt. This was a true gentleman. She met his gaze and her pretty speech fled from her mind, chased away by the thundering double time of her heart.

His eyebrow lifted just a little. She could not continue to stare at him, dumb.

"I do not wish to ignore you consideration, it is most kind. However, I do not think it wise to so openly flaunt Lady Catherine's orders nor do I expect my mother will find your friends a trial." She pressed her lips hard. It would not do to laugh openly so close to Lady Catherine's lair. "On the contrary, I expect she will find it quite pleasing that Mr. Bingley might be thrown into my sister's company."

Darcy's forehead furrowed and creases appeared beside his eyes.

"You are wary of match-making mamas."

He snorted. Poor man, he must have endured much in the _ton's_ marriage mart.

"While my mother might have her ambitions, my sister does not. She will not accept a man she does not like very much."

"Am I so very transparent?" His breathy whisper caressed the back of her neck, sending shivers along her spine.

"I would hardly say that. You are not one to give up your secrets easily." She licked her lips.

"You have tried to discern them?"

Oh, when he quirked his brow just that way, it demanded she stroke it smooth.

"I…that is to say—"

"Miss Elizabeth!"

They both jumped and turned toward _the voice_.

Lady Catherine stood just outside the drawing room door, her face gathered into her darkest, most menacing scowl. "A word, if you please." She turned on her heel and disappeared into her lair.

Elizabeth dropped a small curtsey and rushed into the drawing room, scarcely able to draw breath for the frantic drumming of her heart.

Lady Catherine climbed back upon her throne, her face a stone mask of creases, gnarls and shadow.

"Your ladyship?"

"You think I do not know what you are about, young woman?"

"I do not have the pleasure of your meaning, madam."

"None of your cheek here, girl. I know. Oh, I know." _She_ shook her hand toward Elizabeth.

"Know what your ladyship?"

"That you have ambitions far beyond your station, far beyond all propriety and decency."

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth grabbed the back of the nearest chair to shore up her liquid knees.

"It is written upon your face—clear in that indecent display I just walked in upon."

"What display?"

"In the corridor—"

"Mr. Darcy?" She gasped. "You assume far too much, I only met him yesterday."

"Entirely long enough to form designs upon his person and fortune."

"What have I done to give you such an estimate of my character?"

"You failed to secure Mr. Collins—spurned him I am sure—in the hopes of someone of greater consequence."

The upholstery tore a tiny bit beneath her fingernails. Wonderful. "I assure you, madam, I never considered such a thing. Our temperaments are so different, we could never have made a good match. He saw it clearly. I am convinced he has made a much happier situation with—"

"Are you suggesting happiness may be found in disobeying me?"

"By no means."

"Then turn your attentions to Mr. Wickham. A barrister is —"

"He is no barrister."

"Perhaps not yet. He studies at the Inn of Courts."

"He does not, nor is he likely to, having offended a very influential member."

"He lied—"

"Likely to impress Miss Bingley. I hardly expect he has spoken directly to you, much less that he would be so bold as to lie to you."

"Where do you come by this information?"

"Mr. Darcy informed me of that and of his true purpose in—"

Lady Catherine slapped the arms of her chair and rose to her feet. "What were you doing talking to my nephew?"

"We met on the road this morning."

"While you were driving, unchaperoned, as I have expressly forbidden."

She dropped her eyes. "Yes, your ladyship."

One, two, three steps and Lady Catherine stood so close their skirt hems touched. She waved her boney finger under Elizabeth's nose. "I will make this very plain to you, young woman, so that even you, in all your cleverness, cannot pretend to misunderstand me. Darcy is for Anne."

"For her?"

"From their cradles they have been promised to one another. It was the fondest wish of his mother and I. No upstart like you is going to interfere with those plans."

"How could I do that? What am I compared to Miss de Bourgh?"

"What are you—exactly! Exactly! But do not play coy with me, Miss." She circled Elizabeth, a hungry cat circling a bird. "We both know you have arts and allurements you might use to distract him from his duty to his family."

"I have what?"

"You are a doctor's daughter—one who routinely assists him. You have no delicacy! Obviously you have been exposed to the basest things of life—of men. With all your cleverness, you surely have worked out how to turn that to your advantage."

Elizabeth's jaw worked, but no words would form.

"Why do you think I have been trying to find you a match? Even with your connection to me, few decent men will ally themselves with a woman like you. Despite your youthful airs and arrogance, I have had—and will continue to have—your best interests in mind—unless—"

She stabbed her sharp finger into Elizabeth's chest.

Elizabeth jumped back.

"Unless you cross me in this and continue to prey upon Darcy. You are not his equal and would bring shame upon his name and all his family."

"You wish me to leave Rosings?"

"That would have been my preference. But since Anne requires your presence, I will not send you away. She will not be denied any comfort, no matter how little I understand it."

"Then shall I ignore him? Turn my back as the servants do when he approaches?"

"You are not …not…a servant. I will not have open rudeness in my home."

"Then how shall I behave?"

"With every civility, but nothing more. Do not think I cannot tell. I will be watching you, Miss Elizabeth."

"I understand, your ladyship. Is there anything else?"

"No, that will be enough."

She curtsied and strode away, careful to insure her steps were all but soundless on the soft carpets.

Two steps into the corridor, Mr. Darcy blocked her path.

"Miss Elizabeth—"

"You heard?"

"I am afraid so."

She glanced into his eyes. His brow knit over them, shadowing the creases furrowed beside them. How tall he was, towering—or was that, hovering over her.

"I hardly know what to say, my aunt—"

She raised an open hand. "Pray forgive me, sir, but I am truly in no state for conversation at the moment."

"I understand, but you will speak with me later?"

"I do not know, sir. Excuse me." She dropped her eyes, curtsied and hurried away.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Darcy stood rooted in the hall. The urge to chase after Miss Elizabeth was an irrational one to be sure. Gentlemen of his station did not chase after young ladies. He shook his head sharply. That statement had the sound of Aunt Catherine to it. It was not the voice he needed haunting his consciousness.

Aunt Catherine had treated the poor girl abominably, yet Miss Elizabeth still maintained her dignity and grace. No weeping or vapors, no scraping apologies or false humility. Though he had known her but a day, he could sketch her character clearly. She might not possess wealth, or so he had been warned, but she held other attributes far more valuable.

"Darcy? What do you want?" Aunt Catherine demanded in something just short of a shriek.

When had he wandered into her lair? More importantly, why?

"Darcy?"

A shudder trailed down his back. _That voice!_ It tormented him as a child and yanked him back to that place even now.

"Yes, Aunt."

"You came to me—I did not summon you."

"Yes, yes—"

"I am glad you came, though. You should know, I just finished instructing Miss Elizabeth Bennet that she was not to disturb you whilst she stays here to comfort Anne."

"Why ever would you do that? Did I complain to you about being disturbed?"

She snorted. "I am no fool. I saw the way you looked at her in the hall."

"Excuse me?" Heat crept up his neck to his jaw. Surely he could not have been so obvious.

"You will remember your duty to Anne." She leaned forward, hands braced on the gilt chair arms, face gnarled into an expression matching the gold sphinxes on either side of her seat.

It would have been droll had it been directed toward anyone else.

"My duty to Anne?"

"We have discussed this often enough. I do not appreciate it when you toy with me, Darcy." She folded her arms over her chest. "When she recovers from this spell, you will marry her and unite our houses at last."

His favorite discussion. "You know that is impossible. Anne cannot—"

"Do not say it. I know. She cannot satisfy your basest urges. I know what men are like." She flicked her bony hand and rose. The beads in the chair's valance clacked in her wake.

Darcy winced. "She cannot bear children. Surely you realize that. I must have an heir—"

"I am no fool, Darcy. I can see that. Every man in your position is in need of an heir. But that is not the only consideration here."

"Instruct me, Aunt, what other considerations do you suggest I regard in planning a marriage? Fortune, connections—"

"My daughter deserves a fine match for whatever time she has. That is why you must marry immediately on her recovery."

"I appreciate your concern for Anne. Be assured of that. It is right to try and make what life she does have as pleasing as possible. But what you insist is not—"

"I do not wish to argue. You must and you will marry Anne directly. If you require someone to exercise your urges upon, find yourself a mistress or keep the one you have. Only be discrete. Anne must never know."

His gut knotted so hard bile flooded his throat. "What are you saying? Did I understand you correctly? You suggest I should deceive her in…everything?"

"There are times in life when it is the only option. If a bit of deceit is necessary to see her happy, then it is a price I am willing to pay."

"But I am not. Have you considered I might not be willing to be the pawn in your scheme?"

"Have you forgotten you will receive Rosings for your trouble? You will be well recompensed for your efforts, nephew." She waved her hand far too close to his face.

His hands curled into tight fists. Had she been a man—but she was not. Apparently, that meant she could insult his integrity with impunity.

"You know I have your best interest in mind. Can you not see, in this way, when you do marry to get yourself heirs, you will be able to provide estates for several sons, not just the eldest." She circled him, arms folded over her chest. "I know your distress over Fitzwilliam's state. Would you not like to insure your sons never face choosing a gentlemanly profession?"

"You seem to have my life entirely planned out for me."

"As almost your nearest relation, I am entitled—"

"To nothing, madam, absolutely nothing. Keep your schemes and plans to yourself. I have neither asked for them nor have I any desire for your assistance. You are nothing short of pretentious and I will not admit such interference."

She tossed her head and snorted. "I have heard that from you before. But in the end, you will do your duty by your family. It is in your Fitzwilliam blood." She returned to her chair and ran her hand along the red velvet, leaving a little trail in the wake of her fingers. "You may go now. I must attend my correspondence."

Oh, the things he longed to say, but they would be of little use now. Fitzwilliam blood be damned. It was the Darcy will that governed his purposes. How little she understood the Darcy will would not be bent to her purposes.

He marched to the stables. How quickly could his hunter be readied? A brisk ride might be the only way to curb his tongue right now. A mistress indeed! How dare she even consider whether he kept one, much less assume that he did.

"A note just come for you, Miss," the young maid whispered and handed Elizabeth a carefully folded paper bearing her stepmother's handwriting.

"Thank you. Stay here with Miss de Bourgh until I return. I will be in the small sitting room across the hall. Get me if she awakens." Elizabeth rose and directed the maid to take her seat.

She slipped into the hallway and shaded her eyes. Even the filtered sunlight hurt after the fire lit darkness of Miss de Bourgh's chamber. She ran her hands over her arms. How cold it felt in the corridor.

She shook her head, throwing off the heat-induced lethargy. Though a note from Mama was rarely a welcome event, any excuse for a break from the sickroom must be considered welcome.

The small sitting room, clearly unused and forgotten by _her,_ had a single, most redeeming quality—it was empty of company and likely to remain so. Within it, she might enjoy a few moments with her own thoughts, uninterrupted.

She pushed the window open and gulped in fresh air. Anyone who saw her would think her half drowned, but she was—suffocating in pretense and overbearing interference. Between Mama and Lady Catherine, she could hardly draw breath without instruction in how to do it more properly.

She edged a blue velvet bergèreto the window. The upholstered arms and back wrapped around her comfortably. Surely this was not one of Lady Catherine's choices. No such appealing seats populated her drawing room.

It was difficult to maintain so active an ire toward one who had done her family so much real good. Yet Lady Catherine actively inspired spleen at every turn. How could Jane manage to be so quiescent in the face of it all? Then again, few found as much to criticize in Jane as they did her imperfect sister.

She sighed and opened Mama's note. At least her penmanship looked happy.

My dearest Lizzy,

What a clever girl you are. I do not know how you managed to accomplish it, but Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham are now comfortably installed upstairs. Imagine my astonishment when I received word of their being sent to us.

It is clear Mr. Bingley is most happy to be so much in Jane's company. She entertains him with all the grace and animation I have instilled in her—

Elizabeth coughed. What gall! Any admirable qualities in Jane or herself came from their esteemed mother, Mama had little to do with it, except providing a model not to follow.

I have every hope of happy news before the end of this quarantine. I know you shall do whatever you can to ensure it lasts as long as possible.

It is unfortunate that Mr. Wickham cannot be at Rosings with you. But we shall make the best of it. He seems to very much enjoy Lydia's company. Who knows—perhaps she shall be the first of you girls to marry.

Elizabeth pressed her eyes. Perhaps she could approach Mr. Darcy to warn Papa about Mr. Wickham's past dalliances. That might incite him to protect Lydia. Or not—particularly if Mama wished to encourage the match. It was nearly impossible to press him to oppose Mama in anything and having Lydia marry first would be just the kind of triumph she would glory in, proving, in her own eyes, herself as the fittest Mrs. Dr. Bennet.

Elizabeth rose and stepped to the window, kneeling on the window bench. How was she to even approach Mr. Darcy now that _she_ had declared—

The audacity! The arrogance and conceit of _that woman_ to proscribe to whom she may speak? She might have rank and authority, but there were limits even in that.

But apparently they did not include anything associated with Elizabeth. Clearly Papa had no intention of stopping _her_ intrusions into his family. Neither did Mr. Collins. Just last week, Charlotte told her of an order at the butcher cancelled by her ladyship herself when _she_ deemed them ordering wasteful quantities of lamb.

Soon _she_ would be decorating their homes and instructing them on what to wear each day. A cold flush spread across Elizabeth's face and she rose to her feet. Lady Catherine already did those things to. The arrangement of their drawing room and Charlotte's dining room were directed by _her._ Even the shelves in Elizabeth's own closet had been designed and ordered by their patroness.

Was there no part of her life not under her ladyship's control? If she did not stop its insidious spread now, she might spend the rest of her life ensnared in the grasp of the Queen of Rosings Park.

It would not do to openly flaunt disobedience in front of _her_. Such disrespect was unladylike. However the reign of this queen would end, quietly, but it would end. Should Mr. Darcy wish to speak to her, outside his aunt's presence, far be it from her to decline. In truth, it would be a most pleasant thing if he did. There was certainly more to the depths of his dark eyes than she had yet discerned. He was a tantalizing puzzle, one well worth solving.

The door creaked open. The maid peeked in and beckoned her. Her reprieve was over. She forced a smile on her face and returned to Miss de Bourgh.

Elizabeth shut the book and rubbed her eyes. At last Miss de Bourgh slept. Her throat was raw from reading aloud—but it was the only thing that seemed to sufficiently distract Miss de Bourgh from her discomfort.

Despite her unfortunate tendency to exaggerate her condition, no one doubted Miss de Bourgh's suffering was very real. Some might contend her claims of headache or even deny the ache in her chest. But the skin lesions and gnarled swollen nodules at her joints could not be ignored.

If only she could suffer like Jane did when she took ill—pleasant and considerate to all who would try and care for her. That was probably unfair and uncharitable. In truth, few could be so truly good as Jane.

A maid peeked in. "I am to sit with her while you dress and take dinner, Miss."

Elizabeth laid the book aside and pushed herself up. How many hours had she been sitting to become so stiff?

The cool hallway air revived her a little, and a fresh gown even more so. If tomorrow would be anything like today, she must be certain to rise early and walk, lest confinement to the sickroom drive her mad.

On the way to the drawing room, she encountered Miss Darcy. "Good evening." She curtsied.

"Good evening. How fares my cousin?" Miss Darcy asked, voice very soft.

"She is quite ill, I am sorry to say. However, this does not appear greatly worse than the last episode she suffered. My father is quite hopeful she will recover, though it could be several weeks, or even months before she is strong enough to come downstairs again."

"That is welcome news…that she is likely to recover, I mean." Miss Darcy's cheeks colored.

"Do not be concerned. I understood what you meant."

Miss Darcy heaved a soft breath. "Thank you."

"Your aunt makes you anxious?"

Miss Darcy's head dipped in a tiny nod, one that might barely be seen at a distance. "She is quite apt to correct whatever does not meet her approval."

"And it seems there is a great deal that does not."

Miss Darcy gulped and tripped over the next stair.

Elizabeth caught her elbow and stared into the younger woman's eyes. They glistened, ready to overflow.

"Come." She took Miss Darcy by the elbow and led her back up the stairs and to an unused guest room.

"But we are expected for dinner."

"We have time. Mr. Hurst is not yet dressed. He seems to be having difficulty with the fit of his breeches."

Miss Darcy giggled into her hands.

"There, that is much better." She pressed a handkerchief into Miss Darcy's hands. "Dry your eyes now. You have no need for tears."

"But she was so angry this afternoon. You do not know—"

"Oh, I know very well indeed." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I am afraid I am the source of her discomposure today."

Miss Darcy pressed the handkerchief to her mouth. "Surely not."

"I beg to differ. She was most cross with me."

"Oh, how can you tolerate it with such equanimity?"

Elizabeth choked on a bitter laugh. "I am not sure that is the word with which I would describe my reactions."

"But you are…are dressed and clearly on your way to dinner."

"I am."

"How can you bear to face her again?"

"I suppose, given my options, it is the more appealing one."

"What could be less desirable than—"

"Taking a tray of insipidly cold food in an overly dark, hot room with a companion who is by turns moaning in her sleep or moaning in her wakefulness." Elizabeth's brows crept up her forehead.

"Oh. I had not thought—"

"Please do not think me criticizing Miss de Bourgh, for I am not."

"Of course. I suppose, given your choices, I would agree with you." Miss Darcy sniffled and dabbed her eyes.

"You must not allow Lady Catherine to upset you so much."

"But how is such a thing to be accomplished? Aunt is so very forceful."

"Indeed she is; however consider this, would your brother ever allow her to actually hurt you?"

"No…no, he would not. He is so very good to me."

"Then what is there to fear?"

Miss Darcy shrugged. "She is so very loud."

"Yes, she is, but so is a summer thunderstorm, which passes quickly and ends with the sunshine and, at times, a rainbow."

"I do not like thunderstorms."

"Few of us do, but you do not hide under your bed from storms any longer, do you?"

"Not usually."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Much better. Now," she straightened the lace at Miss Darcy's shoulder. "Just consider her a summer thunderstorm. And remember, no matter how loud, the storm will soon pass and all will be well once more."

"You make it sound so easy. Will you sit beside me and give me courage?"

"I would be happy to." She tucked Miss Darcy's hand into the crook of her elbow and led her to the stairs.

Mr. Darcy met them at the drawing room and escorted Miss Darcy inside. He smiled at Elizabeth and dipped his head before retreating. She would rather he had offered his arm. She would have had to decline lest she raise Lady Catherine's ire, but still it would have been pleasant.

What was she thinking? A man like Mr. Darcy could have little use for a doctor's daughter. With only twenty five hundred pounds, her dowry would only be of interest to a middling sort of man. Lady Catherine had said Miss Darcy possessed thirty thousand pounds. Any woman Mr. Darcy would be interested in would have to have enough to restock Pemberley's coffers of Miss Darcy's portion.

But if that were so, why would Lady Catherine be so concerned with her? She glanced at Mr. Darcy. Perhaps his parents' match had been a felicitous one and he wished for as much himself.

Papa touched her shoulder with his. "How is Miss de Bourgh?"

Elizabeth started. "She sleeps now, but restlessly."

"She has had…"

"All the medicines you have called for, by my hand."

"And…"

"There has been little change."

He rubbed his chin. "I may have to send for the surgeon."

"Shall I inform the butler?"

Mr. Hurst rushed in, face red and pants far too tight. His belly bulged over the waist like a sausage burst in cooking.

"Perhaps I should send for a tailor as well. His breeches may do him serious injury." Elizabeth whispered behind her hand.

Papa snorted. "Your mother would deem that a most indelicate remark."

"As would Lady Catherine. However—"

"Yes, yes, you are quite correct. I shall find some time this evening to warn him."

"I do not like to be kept waiting, Mr. Hurst." Lady Catherine rose from her throne, staring down her nose at the wheezing, sweating Hurst. The sphinxes beside her added their glare to hers.

"No, no of course not, your ladyship. I do beg your pardon." He bowed, but stopped only halfway down.

Elizabeth looked away. The claw hammer tails of his coat revealed a seam taxed to breaking, a sight she would be happy to spend her whole life without witnessing.

"See it does not happen again." _She _glared and proceeded past him, her skirts swishing and rustling a rebuke. "We shall adjourn to the dining room."

Elizabeth hung back as the gentlemen offered their arms to the ladies. Mr. Darcy to his aunt, Colonel Fitzwilliam to Miss Darcy, Papa to Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Hurst to Miss Bingley. Though not unfamiliar, still, entering the dining room last and alone was difficult. But it was better than a tray in the sick room.

They ate in the smaller dining room with Lady Catherine at the head of the table and Mr. Darcy at the foot. She found a place at the center of the table between Miss Darcy and Mrs. Hurst.

The soup arrived—mock turtle. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut. Her stomach knotted.

"You do not like it either?" Miss Darcy whispered.

"The last time I ate it, I was violently ill for three days. Since then, I can hardly look at it."

"Do what I do." Miss Darcy stirred the soup, took a tiny share in her spoon and raised it to her lips. She made all the motions of sipping it, but the portion in the spoon did not change. "Hold your breath, if necessary, as it approaches your face. If you do this whilst everyone else eats, the staff will take your plate when they clear the course and you will escape unscathed."

Elizabeth coughed back a giggle.

"What is that you are saying to Miss Elizabeth, Georgiana? I must have my share of the conversation."

"Miss Darcy was merely instructing me in the finer points of the appropriate use of a soup spoon, madam."

"You would do well to listen to her, Miss Bennet. Georgiana has impeccable manners and excellent, if untutored, taste. Hers is a desirable model to follow."

"Indeed it is. I am grateful she is willing to assist me."

"It is in the Fitzwilliam nature to be considerate and attentive to those below them in station and dutiful to their family." _She _glared at Darcy.

His eyes narrowed and he held his ground against her medusa like stare.

The Queen must have been active in lecturing her retainers this afternoon.

_She _turned back to the rest of her guests. "In fact, we have been told our condescension might go so far as to be a shortcoming amongst us. But I suppose if one must have flaws, that of too much Christian charity is preferable to so many other vices of excess."

Mr. Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose and looked aside, no more pleased by his aunt's censorious praise than Miss Darcy. Col. Fitzwilliam grumble under his breath.

Elizabeth patted Miss Darcy's hand under the table. "It is difficult to consider too much virtue a vice, your ladyship."

"Well said, Miss Elizabeth." Col. Fitzwilliam smiled and raised his glass. "A toast to the virtue of the Fitzwilliam family. May it continue to overflow and be the most apparent of its vices." He raised his glass.

Elizabeth took a dainty sip of wine. If it was going to be an evening of toasting, caution and moderation would be required. Over the rim of her glass, she watched Mr. Darcy's brows pull down and his forehead knot.

What a singular reaction.

A heavy tap on her shoulder startled her. Long Tom towered over her. Though his face bore little sign of expression, she read it well enough. She removed her napkin from her lap and he pulled her chair out.

"Pray excuse me. Miss de Bourgh requires me." She followed him out before anyone could comment.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"I shall have a tray sent up to you." Tom's hands were clasped firmly behind his back.

She glance up at him. The ever present creases in his forehead were just a bit deeper than usual and his brows drawn more tightly over his eyes. "You are worried for her."

He nodded once.

She rubbed her hands together. "Send for the surgeon and apothecary. We will likely need them before the evening is out, but keep them from Miss de Bourgh until Papa sends for them. Make sure the kitchen keeps a supply of hot water ready all night. Papa will not wish to wait for it if he needs it. Have the maids bring up fresh linens, toweling and blankets as well. And yes, make certain there is a fire laid in the drawing room near Miss de Bourgh's room and a decanter of Lady Catherine's favorite wine placed there."

"Yes, Miss." He bowed. "And I shall see to it there is no mock-turtle soup on your tray."

"Thank you." Hopefully he was the only one who noticed.

She hurried upstairs. Miss de Bourgh's shrill voice drifted down from the top of the stairs.

"Where is she? Why has she left?" Her voice had the same piercing quality as her mother's, a screeching tone like metal on metal.

She pushed Miss de Bourgh's door open, pausing a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the hot, dark room. "I am here. Your mother insisted I attend dinner downstairs, but I asked to be summoned if you awoke and now I am here."

Miss de Bourgh pushed up on her elbows and kicked the blankets away. "I did not ask you to stay so I could awaken alone."

"You did not awake alone. The maid was here to attend you and call for me, which is exactly what happened."

"I still do like it."

Elizabeth sat beside her. "I cannot disregard your mother's wishes."

Miss de Bourgh harrumphed and wrapped her arms around her waist. How very much like Lydia she was.

"Let me straighten your sheets and plump your pillows. I am sure that will ease you." Elizabeth pulled the sheets aside.

Miss de Bourgh's nightgown clung sweat-soaked to her frail body. Her legs were covered in red splotches. Swollen nodules, some as large as a small egg, clustered near her knees and ankles. "I hurt—everywhere." Her words ended in a plaintive cry.

She pressed her hand to Miss de Bourgh's forehead who began to shiver, teeth chattering.

"You are burning with fever. We must get you into something warm and dry." Elizabeth rushed to a large press and removed a nightgown.

A maid bustled in, arms piled high with the linens Elizabeth had requested. In quick order, they had Miss de Bourgh clothed in a fresh gown, wrapped in a dressing gown and seated by the fire. While the maid changed the bed clothes, Elizabeth pressed a small glass of willow bark tincture into Miss de Bough's shaky hands. "Drink this."

"I do not want to." She pushed it away and turned up her nose.

"I asked not if you wanted to. I told you to do it." Elizabeth pressed her hands toward her mouth.

"It tastes terrible."

"I know. That it is why it is not served at the dining table alongside the wine."

Miss de Bourgh giggled but pulled her face back from the glass. "My throat hurts and it burns when I swallow."

"I know, but it cannot be helped. I shall make you some tea with honey to soothe your throat after you drink this." She glanced at the maid who nodded and scurried out.

"It makes my stomach hurt."

"I will get the peppermint lozenges I brought from the apothecary—after you drink it."

"You are mean to me."

"I know. That is why you ask me to sit with you when you are ill. Now drink." Elizabeth patted her hands and helped her move the glass to her mouth.

Miss de Bourgh made a sour face and drank down the entire tincture in a single large gulp. She gasped and coughed and sputtered.

Elizabeth jumped up and poured her a glass of wine and water. "Here, this will help."

"Oh! Oh, this burns too!" she cried and spilled the glass on herself.

"Here, let me take that. The maid will be here soon with the hot water. I will get you a fresh gown."

The maid arrived and made up the bed with fresh linen while Elizabeth changed the patient into a fresh gown and made tea. In short order, the bed was ready and Miss de Bourgh returned under the blankets and counterpane.

Then a dinner tray, without mock-turtle soup, followed.

"Look here. There is broth and pudding for you."

"I do not want to eat. I am not hungry." They locked gazes. Miss de Bourgh looked away. "But you did not ask if I was and shall give me no peace if I do not try to eat.

"Indeed. Why not sip the broth whilst I fix another cup of tea for you. You know Papa says you must eat as much as you can, if you are to recover quickly.

Miss de Bourgh harrumphed but took the bowl of broth and sipped it, grimacing at each swallow. "It does not taste good."

"I know. You are not taking it for the taste, but for strength. Here is your tea. I trust you will find it palatable."

Miss de Bourgh took the teacup and drank. "It will do." Her lips turned up ever so slightly.

"I am glad to hear it. Now take some pudding."

She took several small bites, but pushed away the plate before even a fourth was eaten. "I cannot. It hurts too much," she whispered. "And my stomach hurts."

Elizabeth took the plate away. "Do you wish to play cards or shall I read to you?"

"Eat your dinner and then read to me; we have not finished that novel yet." She lay back on the pillow with a small groan.

The sound was too small, her reaction too contained. Her pain was very real.

Elizabeth read for several hours, entertaining Miss de Bourgh with theatrical voices for each of the novel's characters. While it was excellent medicine for her spirits, it did little to alleviate her rising fever or sick stomach. After the third time she cast up her accounts, something had to be done.

"I must get Papa. I will return shortly." She patted Miss de Bourgh's hand and hurried away before a protest could be raised.

Long Tom intercepted her at the foot of the stairs.

"Have the surgeon and apothecary arrived?"

"They are in the kitchen, dining."

"They will need it. I fear it will be a very long night."

"Shall I send them upstairs?"

"Not until Papa has seen her first. Send up several large basins and more towels and linen. " He bowed and Elizabeth continued to the drawing room.

Miss Darcy sat at the pianoforte, her brother standing guard between her and her audience. She played very well and her choice of music was infinitely better than Miss Bingley's. How disappointing she could not stay to listen.

Blast and botheration! Papa sat with Lady Catherine. Though the sick room did not need one more advisor, there was little to be done for it. She slipped in and whispered in Papa's ear.

He jumped to his feet and followed her out.

"She had some broth and tea … oh, and a few bites of pudding, as well as the willow bark, but her fever is rising, as is her pain. She has expelled all she has eaten and I fear she is becoming delirious as well."

They started up the stairs.

"The surgeon and apothecary are waiting in the kitchen—"

He stopped mid-step and glared at her. "What are they doing here?"

"You told me to summon—"

"I most surely did not. You take far too much upon yourself and I am growing quite tired of it."

She ground her teeth. Why did she even bother asking? Twice, no—thrice now she had summoned the surgeon only to have him deny he had requested it. Did not he listen when she asked what he desired? No point in arguing now—or later. Though he would come to appreciate what she had done, far be it from him to ever make mention of it. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Once he made up his mind, little would alter his course. No wonder Mama called him a vexing man.

Papa hurried up the stairs. He stopped abruptly at the top. "I thought you said they were in the kitchen."

"The butler told me they were," she stammered, staring at the two men who paced outside Miss de Bourgh's room.

The surgeon, Mr. Peters, stalked behind the apothecary, Mr. Lang, in long stork-like steps. He lectured in a gravel voice that seemed unlikely from his long thin frame. When they reached the end of the corridor, they turned and changed roles, Mr. Lang waving his short, stocky arms in time to his strident voice

"This is most unhelpful, Elizabeth. You have done me and Miss de Bourh a great disservice this night." Papa tugged his sleeves and squared his shoulders. Long confident strides took him to the arguing men.

Elizabeth sagged against the wall, eyes burning. Cook's fine supper soured in her belly. She wrapped her arms around her waist. If she could just hold on tightly enough, the pain would pass. Why did he have to be so trying?

She huffed out a painful breath. To be fair, Papa was anxious for his patient and for his patron. He and Mr. Peters disagreed and argued regularly, but the surgeon was a necessary evil when a vein needed to be bled or some other such task was necessary. Papa was often short with her in these circumstances. After the crises passed, he would regain his good humor and not even remember his harsh words to her.

But she would.

Papa led the other men in to examine their patient. No point in following. She would only be in their way.

Several sets of footsteps clattered down the corridor—Lady Catherine and two others, men. She turned. Mr. Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam followed her. They stopped at Elizabeth's side.

"Papa, Mr. Peters and Mr. Lang are all with her right now."

Though _she_ lost none of her regal bearing, the creases in her face and the wrinkles in her skirt that betrayed where she had clutched it, spoke of her anxiety. Papa and the other two men stalked into the hall. He closed the door and led them a few steps further away. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then began their debate.

"She must be bled, sweated and purged." Mr. Peters ticked off the points on his impossibly long fingers.

"Cupping is preferred to leeches in these cases, though I have brought—" Mr. Lang perched his fists on his hips.

"If there is bleeding to be done, it will be by a surgeon." Mr. Peters crossed his arms over his chest and leaned forward just enough to tower over Mr. Lang.

Mr. Lang rolled his eyes. He pursed his lips, round cheeks dimpling. "I should think an emollient clyster most appropriate in this case. I can prepare one immediately."

"A purge must come before the clyster." Mr. Peters shook his head violently. "And sweating—it is critical these thing are done in the proper order."

"Did you not see the sweat on her brow, or the pile of bed linen in the corner? She is already sweating profusely. Inducing more would be entirely unnecessary. She needs gentle cooling and fresh air." Papa crossed his arms, thumbs up and tapping a rapid beat along his upper arms.

"You would not advise a purgative—" Mr. Lang turned scarlet.

"She has done so naturally, several times. Why should it be induced now?" Papa tapped his foot in staccato beats.

"Surely you can see the inflammation with the fever demands bleeding." Mr. Peter slapped the back of his hand into his palm.

Papa pinched his temples. "I do not agree. In these cases, too much bleeding in my experience—"

"What experience?" Mr. Peters shouted. "You never do the job yourself. When properly bled, patients prosper. That and a steady dose of laudanum—"

"No!" Papa snapped.

"Certainly not." Col. Fitzwilliam muttered.

Mr. Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam wore identical dark expressions. They glared at one another and marched toward the arguing men.

Lady Catherine drew a sharp breath but did not speak. The great lady was never without words. She was in a most serious state indeed.

"Come with me." Elizabeth gestured toward the door of the small parlor.

"I wish to see Anne."

"I will take you, but I do not think it advisable now. Miss de Bourgh wished so much to please you by getting well. When she sees you, she will think you disappointed in her. That could hinder her recovery. Do you still wish me to take you to her?"

_She _blinked three times and licked her lips. "No, you are right. She should not be upset." Her shoulders fell just enough to make her look very old.

"Please, come with me." She opened the door to the small parlor.

A comfortable fire crackled in the fireplace. Elizabeth lit several candles from it. Soon the room welcomed them. She poured a small glass of sweet wine and shut the door against the angry voices in the hall.

Lady Catherine sat in a large chair near the fire, the most throne-like in the room. She never used a settee—perhaps the chance someone might sit near her was too great.

Elizabeth chewed the inside of her cheek. Where to sit herself? _She_ always did keep a very great distance between herself and all her subjects. Was it merely an issue of rank, or could there be something more? Elizabeth handed _her_ the wine and sat down in the nearest, but not too near, chair.

Lady Catherine drank down the wine in an unladylike gulp and handed the cup to Elizabeth. She rose, refilled it and returned it to _her_. When Lady Catherine simply cradled the cup in her hands, Elizabeth returned to her seat.

"It disturbs me to see Dr. Bennet argue with Mr. Peters and Mr. Lang." Lady Catherine stared into the glass and ran her finger around the rim.

"It should not surprise your Ladyship."

"Why exactly is that?"

"Did you not seek out Papa because you were unsatisfied with Mr. Peters' and Mr. Lang's efforts on Miss de Bourgh's behalf? Would you not be disappointed if Papa were only to do more of the same as they? Did you not expect him to bring new treatments and ideas?"

She nodded and rolled the glass in her palms. The firelight glinted off the liquid within as it came dangerously close to splashing out. "I suppose you are correct. The arguing though—"

"—is also entirely expected when distinguished men of learning are exposed to new ideas. No one likes to give up old ways and opinions for the new, even if the new are far more efficacious."

Lady Catherine sipped her wine. "You have most decided opinions for so young a person."

"Forgive me, I do not mean to be impertinent."

Lady Catherine barked a strange, hoarse laugh that Elizabeth had never heard before. "You do not care one jot about impertinence, Miss Elizabeth. Do not attempt to deceive me."

Elizabeth blushed and hung her head. No good could come from any other response.

"That is what I like about you."

Elizabeth's head snapped up and she stared at Lady Catherine, though _she_ gazed into the fire.

"It can be a refreshing moment to have someone disagree with me if I declare the sky green or the world flat."

Elizabeth hid her giggle in a dainty cough. Surely _she_ had had too much wine. How much toasting had taken place at dinner?

"Few will do that, particularly few with so very much to lose." Lady Catherine's sharp gaze trained on Elizabeth.

"My father is using all his training and experience to help Miss de Bourgh. He is but a man, though, and life and death lie in the hands of Providence. Remember, though, before he came, how much more Miss de Bourgh suffered."

_She _grumbled and finished her wine. Elizabeth took the glass and refilled it.

"Do you know how very vexing it is to have one's only child so very unwell and to be utterly unable to remedy the situation?"

"No, your ladyship, I do not, and I hope that I never do."

"Sensible girl. But what would you know of such suffering?"

"Of watching a child suffer, I confess I know nothing. I only know the torment of watching a beloved younger brother die of a recurrent fever whilst Papa did everything he could to save him."

Lady Catherine's expression softened. "His only son? I did not know. Your stepmother's son?"

"Yes." Elizabeth returned the glass to Lady Catherine and moved to the window. Her throat clamped down over her words and a bit of fresh air might loosen it. Or not. "The grief has not erased all these years. Mama— He does not share the tale often."

"And you would violate their privacy?"

"Only because I thought it would give her ladyship comfort to know Papa's desire to see Miss de Bourgh well runs deeper than your patronage to him. He does not wish anyone to know the grief he has suffered."

"You do well by him, Miss Elizabeth. Most fathers have little use for a daughter, but I am sure you are a great comfort to him."

Elizabeth pressed her lips tightly and clutched the window sill. Oh, that Papa would agree with her.

Darcy and Fitzwilliam stormed toward the medical men. Let them argue their bleeding, purging and clysters. Darcy would do away with them all if he could, but he would defer to their learning if pushed. Laudanum, though, was another matter altogether.

"I will only recommend laudanum for the most occasional use, when her pain is too great, the cough too severe or the purging uncontrollable." Bennet snapped. He glanced over his shoulder into Darcy's eyes, as though expecting an argument.

"We agree entirely." Darcy stopped behind Bennet.

"Forgive me sirs, but you speak of things you have not the training to understand." Lang folded his arms over his ample belly. "Far be it for me to recommend farming methods or the best way to manage a tenant dispute—"

Darcy rolled his eyes. How many times had the arrogant know-it-all done just that? Of course, he would conveniently forget that when it suited. Just because he knew everything about everyone within the shadows of Rosings, did not mean he also knew everything.

"I have been supplying Mrs. Jenkins with laudanum for Miss de Bourgh to take regularly in brandy—"

"You bloody fool!" Dr. Bennet stepped forward. He might just throttle the man and from the look of it, Fitzwilliam might just help.

Lang edged back out of arm's reach.

"You convinced Mrs. Jenkins to give her that instead of the willow bark that I—"

"Willow bark! What kind of remedy is that?" Lang's face darkened to nearly purple.

"I know of none who use it. No one recommends its use in these cases." Peters frowned. "You have risked her life by—"

"It is your interference that has risked her life, by countermanding my orders." Bennet balled his fists. Surely he desired to put them to use. Perhaps that would not be such a bad thing.

"Your ill-conceived, arrogant—" Peters leaned down into Bennet's face.

"You would judge my recommendations? A surgeon instructing a physician?"

"I will do so when he is wrong."

Bennet's eyes narrowed and his voice dropped into a range that in most men spelled danger. "And how do you come by that judgment?"

"I have practiced a good ten years longer than you, Bennet. Have you no regard for experience?"

"Not the experience of a self-important fool."

Lang turned away and strode toward Anne's door.

"Where are you going?" Bennet followed him.

"You two will argue until dawn. There is a girl in there who needs my help and I shall administer it."

"You shall do no such thing. She is my patient."

Lang sidestepped Bennet and strode to Darcy. "I beseech you, sir, on behalf of Miss de Bourgh, put a stop to this endless debate and decide which of us you will have treat her and the rest of us shall leave."

Peters hurried to join Lang. "You have known us many years, sir. Surely you can be certain of the efficacy of our methods."

Darcy shook his head.

Peters and Lang turned to Fitzwilliam.

"No. Allow Bennet—"

"Sir, you cannot—"

"Enough!" Fitzwilliam's command voice rang like gunfire in the hall.

Peters and Lang jumped back.

"Go downstairs and wait in the kitchen. You will be summoned, if you are needed. See to it you do not interfere with Dr. Bennet again or you shall lose Rosing's patronage. Need I remind you, there are other surgeons and apothecaries with whom we can consult?"

They tried to stammer something resembling 'yes sir' but Long Tom's sudden appearance, stony faced and looming, cut short their attempts. One had to credit the butler for his impeccable sense of timing.

The butler grunted and gestured toward the stairs. Peters and Lang nearly tripped over each other in their haste to obey.

When they were out of sight, Bennet straightened his cravat. "Thank you. I am sorry you were privy to that disagreeable display."

"You do not favor the heavy use of laudanum, sir?' Fitzwilliam asked.

"No, I do not."

"On what basis?" Fitzwilliam still wore his look of command.

"If you are trying to persuade me differently, you are wasting your time. Better men than you have tried but I remain unmoved."

Darcy stared at him. Bennet held his gaze steadily. Few men would stand up to Darcy's dark look. That Bennet did spoke of a most powerful conviction.

"Why?"

"Those who use too much laudanum come to need it like their daily bread. It weakens them, some fatally. It takes a great deal of effort for those who do recover and often they spend their entire lives desiring it. Miss de Bourgh is far too weak to risk the possibility."

"Those are very unusual ideas, sir." Fitzwilliam said.

"Surely you have seen what I describe. Wounded soldiers are apt—"

Fitzwilliam raised his hand. "I have. Note, I never said I disagreed with you. Only that your ideas are unique."

"If you do not disagree, then to what point is this discussion. I have a patient to tend."

Darcy and Fitzwilliam exchanged a brief glance. "When Anne regains her strength, there is another case which we would like you to consult upon." Darcy said.

"I can make no predictions on when that may be. Perhaps I might recommend—"

Fitzwilliam shook his head. "No. Your expertise, none other."

"Very well. I must attend Miss de Bourgh now. We may speak more of this later." Bennet bowed slightly and entered the sick room.

"I confess, I am surprised." Fitzwilliam leaned against the wall. "Who would have thought that useless vicar—"

"—could have made such an apt recommendation?"

"I am certain it was just dumb luck that his cousin happened to be a useful physician." Fitzwilliam snorted. "Unfortunately, Bennet seems prone to boot licking as well, but not, at least, not as profoundly as Collins."

Darcy stroked his chin. "He does seem to profess opinions entirely his own, though."

"And with enough conviction that Aunt Catherine allows him his head in Anne's care."

"I find that astonishing and a great point in his favor. Few hold that kind of sway with her, particularly where Anne is concerned."

"I think it will help my father to accept him, knowing that aunt does." Fitzwilliam glanced at Anne's closed door.

"Let us hope so, for your brother's sake."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The next three days blurred together in an endless sequence of warm baths, cooling teas, meals of gruel and roasted apples. Miss de Bourgh would not eat until Elizabeth to coax her. Afterwads, Elizabeth read novels until her voice was nearly too hoarse to cajole her patient to drink her medicines. They played cards when Miss de Bourgh was strong enough. At times when she was not, Elizabeth just sat at her bedside and held her hand.

Papa came and went, but Elizabeth stayed constantly. If she left for even a few moments, Miss de Bourgh called and cried for her like a lost child, confused and even delirious in her fevers.

Sometime in the early morning of the fourth day, Miss de Bourgh's fever finally broke and she slept peacefully. Utterly spent, Elizabeth dragged herself to her room and collapsed on the bed, fully dressed, asleep before she even considered a night dress.

She awoke, startled and disoriented, dressed in night clothes, hair braided down her back. Mid-morning sun shone through the windows. How had she gotten here?

But when had the maid come in to help her change? She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her temples. The shadows had been long then—it must have been late in the afternoon.

Her stomach grumbled and pinched. Had she slept through the entire day and night? It was entirely possible.

She threw her head back into the soft pillows and groaned. Someone would surely be displeased with her for sleeping so long. That was not new. Someone was always upset with her.

No, that was uncharitable and most probably unfair. Was it wrong to be a bit ungracious after such an ordeal? Probably.

She sat up. A tray of food sat on the small table near the window. Bless whomever thought to send it. Surely she would be more agreeable with something in her stomach.

She drew on her dressing gown and stretched her aching muscles. Definitely too many hours abed. She was not made for so much idleness.

Cheese and cold meat, compote, good bread and scones. Quite a tolerable meal. She sat down.

Her door creaked open.

"Papa?" She started to rise, but he waved her down.

"I am pleased to see you have finally awoken. I was beginning to worry you might be taking ill yourself."

"I do not think so. Come sit with me and tell me of Miss de Bourgh."

He sat, pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His face was lined, his cheeks sunken. No doubt he had eaten and slept little himself.

"I am pleased to say her improvement continues. Her fever has not returned but neither has her strength. She will be many weeks recovering, I think."

"That she will recover at all is a very good thing."

He nodded and replaced his glasses.

"I shall impose upon your mother's hospitality for some time longer though. I would keep Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham away from here at least a fortnight full."

"Do you think that–"

"I am of no mind to take any risks. Your mother does not seem to mind the company—" he removed a letter from his pocket "—as she most eloquently informed me." He opened the note to reveal another folded within. "I believe this is from Jane, for you."

She took the paper. It was indeed Jane's handwriting. A perfect sweet course with which to finish her meal. "What of Mrs. Jenkins?"

"Her putrid sore throat has not yet abated. She has been removed to the parsonage to recover."

"Removed?" she gasped. "I have every faith in Charlotte's ability to care for her, but—"

He lifted his open hand and shook his head. "Every precaution, Lizzy. How can I allow her to remain in the same house as Miss de Bourgh when Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham have been removed? It seems Miss de Bourgh draws those drafts to herself and I believe keeping as much distance between her and disease the safest course."

"So every servant who sneezes will be dismissed?"

"It is possible."

She rolled her eyes. "Surely you would not support so drastic a measure? Think of what suffering this would cause among the staff."

"They are not my primary concern."

"But—"

Papa grunted. That sound that always presaged a stern conversation.

She sighed and looked down to her plate. "Scones, Papa?"

"Thank you." He picked one up and bit into it. "In Mrs. Jenkins absence, Miss de Bourgh has requested you stay here as companion to her."

"Her companion, Papa?"

"No complaining now, Lizzy. Lady Catherine wills it as well. It seems, despite your penchant for impertinence …" he peered over his glasses.

Why must he use that unsympathetic glare?

"… her ladyship is comforted by your presence as well."

Elizabeth held her breath. She might well do herself an injury biting her tongue and not rolling her eyes. "Does not Mama require me at home?"

"With four other girls in the house, your mother can very well spare you, make no mistake. With all the favor Lady Catherine has to offer, it would be folly not to take full advantage of your situation here and oblige her small request."

"Yes, Papa." What choice did she have? In truth, Lady Catherine was little worse than Mama and the library at Rosings was far better than Papa's. It might be not entirely disagreeable.

"Whilst you are here, I have a task for you."

She swallowed hard. "What is that, Papa?"

"I had an unusual conversation with Col. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy. They mentioned a case for which they wish my consult, after Miss de Bourgh's recovery. They refused to offer me any further details, though. In the course of your time here, I want you to talk with them. See if you can encourage them to reveal any details about the case. I want to prepare as much as possible for whatever they might ask of me. You know the colonel is the son of the Earl of Matlock. Connections to that family would be most beneficial to us all."

Elizabeth grimaced. "But, Papa, I—"

"Do not become missish, Lizzy. I am not demanding you flirt or otherwise conduct yourself improperly. Simply, in the course of conversation—"

He would not be pleased if she sprang up and ran, but, oh it was tempting. "I believe those questions entirely too personal for the course of normal conversation."

"You are a clever girl and a most observant one. I have every faith in your ability to find a way to accomplish this little favor for me."

"You do not understand—"

"No more protests, dear." He rose. "I need you to do this, not just for me, but for your mother and sisters as well. Remember, you have three younger sisters in need of husbands. Think of the kinds of young men a peer might be able to put your sisters in a way to meet. You could help Mary do much better than a mere steward."

"But…but what of—"

"Do not be only thinking of yourself, Lizzy. Though I am sure they might introduce you as well, they will have heard of your refusal of Mr. Collins and Mr. Wickham from Lady Catherine and may very well decide you too particular for your own good."

"You believe I should have accepted Mr. Collins? I thought you yourself said—"

"No, I do not think you should have accepted him."

"And Mr. Wickham? Mr. Darcy has told me—"

"That is not the point, Elizabeth! You must do this service for your sisters. None of you have the luxury of a large dowry. If any of you fail to make a match, you may have to depend upon one another's charity for your future. It is in all your best interest to see each other well settled."

She bit her tongue hard. What he said was true, but—

"Take your time this morning. No one will be expecting you until dinner."

She nodded. Best she not speak just now.

"There is a good girl. I am glad I brought you with me, Lizzy. You are truly a comfort to your Papa." He kissed the top of her head and left.

The door shut. She rose, fists clenched and trembling with the effort. It was good she had practice holding her tongue or she would certainly scream. Why did he choose now to be so much like Mama?

How could she obey when Lady Catherine forbade her—what was she thinking? Of course, she would to talk to Mr. Darcy if the opportunity ever came. Her stubbornness always rose when asked to do something, even if she wanted to do it. Mama called her contrary for a reason.

Still, she did not favor this whole means of obtaining information. She rubbed her hands along her arms and paced the room, finally coming to rest on the window seat. Jane's letter called to her.

Dear Lizzy,

It has been very odd at home without you. Mama's spirits have been very high of late—

So Mama was flitting and fluttering and silly without Elizabeth to dampen her spirits. How comforting to know. No, that was unfair. Jane would never suggest such a thing.

I miss your company very much, but our guests have offered some consolation. Mr. Bingley's company is quite agreeable. Had it not cost me your company, I would call it one of the pleasantest things to have occurred all year. Mama encourages us to keep in company, though she might perhaps stop us if she realized that I do like him.

That was ungracious of me. Please forgive me. I suppose it is the lack of your influence upon me.

Mr. Wickham has taken it upon himself to entertain all of our younger sisters. You might not think a single man could be up to such a daunting task, but he manages tolerably well. He endures his captivity with great equanimity.

Mama encourages Lydia, in particular, to make the most of her time with Mr. Wickham. I do hope you will not be distressed, but I believe Mr. Wickham prefers Lydia. I know Lady Catherine intended him for you—

She tossed the letter aside. Gah! Papa still did not know of Mr. Darcy's intelligence regarding Mr. Wickham. He would surely not believe her now. A dull throbbing began at the base of her head. Perhaps this should wait until the headache subsided. She climbed back into bed and slept until the next morning.

Darcy swung up into his saddle despite the daunting weather. So much more the reason to get out and ride now while the rest of Rosings Park still slept. This might well be the only opportunity to have some moments of quiet and repose.

Bingley's dreadful sister had barely left his side, prattling on about one inanity after another. Even when she chanced upon something intelligent to say, it managed to sound like pure drivel when it left her mouth. Even Georgiana was at the end of her patience with Miss Bingley. Mrs. Hurst was little better, though she had the decided advantage of having very little opportunity to speak in the presence of her sister. Darcy cringed. What might that woman utter if given the opportunity, considering the ill-informed opinions of her husband?

Darcy rubbed his eyes. In the interest of protecting Georgiana's delicate sensibilities, he had sent his own valet to speak to Hurst's regarding the cut of the gentleman's breeches. Whilst the garment should be flattering, some things were certainly not complimented by excessive constriction. The corner of his lips drifted up. What would Miss Elizabeth have to say of it?

She was the only one of their company who might have relieved his suffering, but she remained absent from their presence. She should have joined them for dinner last night, but a headache kept her abed. But was it truly a headache, or had Aunt Catherine's tirade dissuaded her from keeping company? Dreadful meddling—

How was he to make it clear he would not marry Anne? As if the expectation of a short life might make the prospect any more enticing. His stomach churned. He would not degrade the sacrament of marriage that way. The very idea showed how little Aunt Catherine knew him.

But then, did anyone? Bingley came close, but—he huffed. Not everyone could have a relationship like George and Anne Darcy. Perhaps he had set his standards impossibly high. Still, to have a woman know him, understand him—as his mother did his father— and to be able to do the same for her in return, that was his notion of a marriage.

Yes, one more impossible Darcy family ideal to add to the rest that Aunt Catherine failed to understand. Why become inconsistent now? He urged his horse around a gentle curve in the garden path.

What was that? A solitary figure in a pale gown and shawl walked along the garden wall. It was not Georgiana and the Bingley sisters would never rise at this hour. But the garb was a gentlewoman's. Miss Bennet?

His horse, ever perceptive, increased his pace, but Darcy slowed him back to a walk. It would not do to startle her.

She looked up and acknowledged him before he was too close.

He dismounted and led his horse to her. "Good morning, Miss Elizabeth."

"Good morning." She smiled—oh_,_ that smile!

How could the same expression appear so affected on Miss Bingley and so utterly delightful on Miss Elizabeth?

"You are an early riser by habit, sir?"

"I am and always have been. I have always thought the countryside most appealing by the light of sunrise. You are as well, I see."

She chuckled. "With four other sisters in the house, I find it is the only way I have time for contemplation."

"Am I interrupting? I can go." He had no desire to, but would abide by her wishes, if asked. Please, let her not ask.

"Not at all, sir. I have had such limited company for so many days now, I should very much enjoy a conversation."

He gestured for her to continue her walk.

"You are very generous, sir." Her cheeks flushed just enough to give her a nearly irresistible glow.

What Miss Bingley would give to look so well with so little effort. But no, that was certainly not a fitting topic of conversation. "Your father says Anne's condition has improved."

"And you wish to know the extent to which that is said to please your aunt and the degree of concern you should have for your sister keeping company with Miss de Bourgh?"

His heart skipped a beat, and he nearly stumbled. "How do you come by that conclusion?"

She turned her head, gave him a brief, sidelong glance, blinked, and looked away. "If you have spoken to my father, why would you ask me, except for information that you could not rightly expect to get from my father?"

"But—"

"You surely could not ask him if his prognosis was for his patron's benefit. That would be insulting and you are not a man who would conduct himself in that manner. Similarly, you would know Papa would be reluctant to openly say he feared for those keeping company with Miss de Bourgh."

"Why—"

"Because you are singularly protective of your sister and her care and comfort appear uppermost in your mind."

A shiver coursed down his spine. She was intrusive, presumptuous and right—the latter being the most disconcerting.

"Forgive me, sir. I have been far too forward. Please excuse me." She ducked her head and stepped away from his side.

"No! wait," he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Blast! That was entirely improper, but he could not allow her to go. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "Please, Miss Elizabeth."

"But—"

"No, no, you were entirely correct."

"I should not have spoken so."

"There was nothing improper in what you said. It is only that I am not accustomed to…" he licked his lips, "…to being so quickly understood, by anyone—"

"Particularly impudent young ladies who usually look at you in terms of what you have to offer." She sucked in a breath and pressed her hand to her mouth. "Forgive me. I do not know what has come over me."

"Whatever it is, I hope you do not stop."

She paused mid-step and stared at him.

"Your honesty and openness is—"

"Shocking."

"Refreshing and intriguing."

"Your taste in company is quite astonishing."

"Your company is quite remarkable." What was that, a blush on her cheeks? "Would you be willing to grant me an answer to my original question?"

"The one you voiced or the ones you intended?" The gentle tease in her voice had returned.

"Both, if you do not object." Now, if only he could attend to her answers despite the utterly distracting pressure of her small hand in his arm.

"Miss de Bourgh is improving, though this attack has left her very weak. There is reason to hope for a good recovery, but it is unlikely that she will return to her full former strength."

"And that is to be the way of things? Each attack leaving her increasingly weak and vulnerable?"

"I am not a doctor, so I cannot say, and my father has said no such thing in my presence."

"But you think it likely?"

"I do. I have seen her through several of these episodes and each one has left her weaker, in both body and mind. On good days, it is difficult for her to even climb the stairs without pausing for breath at the landing. But mine is an untutored opinion…"

"Fear not, I shall not share it with anyone."

"Thank you."

There was something so vulnerable, so exposed, in those words that every fiber of his being jumped to defend her—but from what? Whom?

"As to your sister," she ran her hand along the top of a large blossom, "my father believes there is no danger to those who would keep company with Miss de Bourgh."

"And do you agree?"

"Not that it signifies, but yes, I do." She bowed her head.

How unfair her lovely face should be hidden by her bonnet.

"I know you have already been much imposed upon by my aunt and cousin, but I wondered if I might ask a favor of you?"

She stiffened, just a little, beside him. Gads! She had been greatly imposed upon. Blast it all!

"Certainly, sir. What may I do for you?"

"In truth, it is for my sister."

"She is a very dear girl."

"I am glad you agree. She is painfully shy, though, and lonely. She has no fitting companion here."

She removed her hand from his arm. "You wish me to be her companion?"

Something in the way she spoke the word 'companion' gnawed at him. Oh No! She could not think— "I fear you may have misunderstood me. I was not at all offering you employ as her companion. Please forgive me."

Her shoulders lost a little of their tension. "What then did you mean?"

He chewed his lip. If he did not speak carefully now, she might be hopelessly offended. "A friend, Miss Bennet. My sister needs a friend. She is melancholy and I know something troubles her."

"You wish me to be your spy?" Dainty eyebrows arched high.

Was she teasing?

"Certainly not—although…"

"Then you do."

"No. She needs a friend—one with good character and sound judgment. I hope you might be willing to spend time with her. Help her as only another woman might."

"And you cannot."

He nodded and pinched his temples. "She has passed the age where she desires me to be privy to all her thoughts."

"And you do not expect me to report all her secrets to you?"

"Not unless you feel she is in some sort of danger. Then I insist."

"Of course. That is entirely proper. I will be happy to be her friend." She bit her lower lip.

Was she aware of how enticing an expression that was? Especially when combined with the tiny hint of a smile on her lips and in her eyes. She had especially fine eyes—

"I have one concern, though. Do you fear Lady Catherine will object?"

"Whatever for?"

She cleared her throat. Her expression might well wither the surrounding roses.

"Oh, yes, ah…" His hand wandered up to tug at his collar, but he forced it back down.

She nodded and turned aside.

"My aunt has no say over matters concerning Georgiana. Fitzwilliam and I are her guardians. I shall inform her that you are—"

"You inform Lady Catherine?"

He laughed. "I suppose that sounds rather ridiculous."

"Do you know, _she_ has asked me to be companion to Anne until Mrs. Jenkins recovers."

"No, I did not." How had Aunt Catherine requested her assistance? Not requested - she ordered it, to be sure, and her father probably insisted. No wonder she had her back up. "I shall not repine your presence here though and it shall put you and Georgiana together often."

She looked up at him. Her gaze penetrating, alluring and sad. How was it she could say so little and speak so profoundly?

"I know what my aunt said to you and I apologize."

"Why?"

Could she not see his face and know? "Because it was on all accounts rude and thoughtless. She likes to direct the lives of those around her, even those not hers to direct."

"You are not under her direction?"

"Hardly. I probably should not say, but Fitzwilliam and I come each spring to ensure the estate is in order and to direct her affairs."

"I see."

"I appreciate your willingness to care for my cousin, but I hardly expect that you would be obedient to all my aunt's desires."

"Indeed."

He extended his arm and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow once more. Exactly where it should be. Yes, exactly as it should be. "My aunt is not at liberty to direct my conversation."

"And you do not fear it would trouble Miss de Bourgh for you to…converse freely with anyone of your choosing?"

He waited until he held her gaze securely. "No. She is not at liberty to direct my actions either. In that she is—and will remain—wholly unconnected to me."

Miss Bennet's eyebrow arched high into what was fast becoming a most favorite expression.

"May I ask a favor of you? I know our acquaintance brief for such a thing, but –"

"Think nothing of it. How may I be of assistance to you?" Please, let it be as least as substantial a request as he had asked of her.

"As you know, Mr. Wickham is staying at our house until the fear of contagion is past."

"At your house! I had not realized. I knew your family hosted Bingley, but Wickham should never have been foisted upon them. Aunt Catherine took the notion that he was to be a barrister and I have not been entirely able to disabuse her of it. He should never have been introduced among her guests. Forgive me. I should have carried the point with her. I must speak to your father."

She smiled. Whatever he had done to earn that gaze, he would easily do a hundred times over.

"That is exactly the favor I had hoped to ask of you. I think Papa will hear the intelligence much better from you than me."

"He has not—"

"Jane wrote to say Mr. Wickham was keeping my younger sisters well entertained."

He squeezed his eyes shut. Why_,_ of all things_,_ did she have to ask him to remedy an oversight of his own making? "I will speak to him as soon as possible."

"Thank you. You need not look so entirely troubled though. My sister is much pleased with Mr. Bingley's company—despite the fact that Lady Catherine says she should be."

His brows raised and he guffawed.

"Forgive me. I fear my sense of humor rather impudent."

"And utterly delightful."

"I mean no disrespect to your aunt."

"Only to make sport with her as you do of everyone else."

She blushed darker red. "It seems I have a notable reputation."

"Only in the best possible sense. You are well respected for your kind heart and ready assistance to all."

"You flatter me."

"You do not believe me? Disguise is my abhorrence, you know." Besides only a fool would attempt to lie to Miss Elizabeth.

"I shall keep that in mind. Of what else have you such decided opinions, sir?"

Thank heavens, her smile had returned!

They walked and talked through a full circuit along the bridle path, finally sating his longing for stimulating conversation.

How well read she was, with well-informed and argued opinions, and on topics not generally regarded as proper for female education. She was all together an enchanting companion. Better still, she agreed to meet him again to walk in the early hours.

All together this was the most satisfying day spent at Rosings, ever. Not that the pleasure would last. He and Fitzwilliam were to meet with the steward and tour some of the cottages said to be in dire need of repair. Wickham should accompany them—yes, that would be most appropriate. The sooner he managed that business, the sooner another morning would come and allow him to walk once again.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

After breakfast, Darcy, Fitzwilliam and Michaels, Aunt Catherine's steward, rode out to the Bennet's house by way of the eastern fields. Darcy looked over his shoulder. Michaels had stopped his horse and was looking over a field. He pulled out a small notebook and pencil from his coat and scribbled furiously.

"Tell me again why we are seeking out Wickham's company?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"He has neatly avoided the very purpose of bringing him on this trip. It is high time for him to apply himself to that purpose."

"You would do much better simply hiring Michaels for Pemberley. No doubt he would do a fine job for you." Fitzwilliam snorted.

"Would that I could, but if I did that, I would have to come to Rosings every season to oversee matters. I would rather remain at Pemberley."

"Hire Wickham and you will do plenty of that. You will not be able to leave for fear of his mismanagement."

"You have little faith in—"

"In anything about him. He has the gift of the gab for sure and he is charming company for an afternoon. I imagine he is quite amusing when he passes through Derbyshire."

"Your point?"

"I think you are considering him more for your friendship of him than his skill in management."

Darcy grumbled under his breath. It was an unpleasant thing to hear another speak your own doubts.

"Do you not get lonely isolated from good society in the wilds of the north? I believe it is high time you take a wife."

"Fitzwilliam," Darcy huffed. "It is enough Aunt Catherine is pressuring me to marry Anne as soon as she leaves her sick bed. I absolutely will not have it from you as well."

"I have no idea of you marrying Anne." He shuddered. "What a horrible thought … her sickly, pale frame in your—"

"Enough!" Darcy raised a hand and prepared to kick his horse if Fitzwilliam uttered another word. He fought to keep that particular image at bay often enough.

"I would not wish that upon you. No, I had rather thought a pair of fine eyes and a wry wit had garnered your attention. After all, anyone who can charm old Long Tom must be rather remarkable."

Darcy's eyes narrowed.

"So she has caught your attention." Fitzwilliam laughed. "I knew it. I knew it. If she were richer, I would have sought her out myself."

"You are referring to a gentlewoman, not a convenient—"

"Do not get your back up on me now. There is a thought, though. Have you considered you might please everyone at once?"

Darcy's horse shook its head. Perceptive creature saved him the trouble of doing the same.

"See here, it would not be so very difficult. You could set Miss Bennet up in Lambton or Derby, if you want to do it in style and keep her there whilst you marry Anne—"

"Not another word! What you suggest is repugnant. Have you been too long in your brother's company that you have become accepting of his—"

"Easy there, Darcy. I have no need of your moral outrage. You would hardly be the first. It is all the kick among the _ton_."

"Perhaps, but since when have I cared for what is—"

"But think of the benefits. You could have Rosings and your pretty bit of muslin on the side. Miss Elizabeth would have a nice establishment apart from her dreadful mother—"

"And apart from any self-respect."

"You may promise to marry her, what…two, three months after you put out your mourning wreath. Consider, it cannot be very long before that happens."

"I shall pretend I did not hear that."

"Aunt Catherine ordered you to do that, eh?" Fitzwilliam threw his head back and laughed. "She's a thoughtful old bat; is she not."

Darcy clutched his temples. Had his entire family lost all sense of respectability? No, it was just the Fitzwilliams—who perhaps never had it in the first place. "I will not dishonor two respectable women."

"You think them both respectable? You are very generous. Anne is hardly a woman and Miss Bennet is one misfortune away from genteel poverty or, in all likelihood, something far worse. Just think, it is in your power to save them both."

"When did you sink so low?"

"When did you lose all sight of practical considerations? You have spent far too much time alone in your walled garden of Pemberley. Money, the carnal act, a bit of sport and a splash of good liquor to keep it all well washed; that is the way of our world."

"Your world perhaps, but not mine."

"Think of your children. You would lose Rosing when you could assure them a gentleman's existence?"

"It has never been mine in the first place. It should go to a Fitzwilliam, not a Darcy. If you are so nuts upon it, you marry Anne and take it all." Darcy worked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

"Now there's a thought." Fitzwilliam screwed his lips into a thoughtful pucker. "Not that I had not considered it, but since you and Anne have always been destined for each other—"

"You have my blessings. I will press your suit to Aunt Catherine and encourage her to find you acceptable."

The levity left Fitzwilliam's countenance. "You are certain? It means you giving up a great deal."

"Swear to me you will be faithful to Anne as long as she lives."

"You would sell Rosing for so meager a price?"

"You would purchase it for the same? I should think you consider the cost quite dear."

"You never did approve of the way I spent my leave."

"If you marry her, you will need to retire. Anne deserves that much. She will never bear children. She should at least have a faithful husband in her house." Darcy glanced back at the steward. "And as to Rosings, you know as well as I, even with Michaels' efforts, it will be a huge task getting Rosings out of debt and prosperous once again. Perhaps the work of a lifetime. You believe I am giving up a great deal, but perhaps my willingness to do so should give you pause to consider what you are taking on."

Fitzwilliam nodded. "You do not think you can manage both?"

"Not and do them justice. The tenants here do not deserve to suffer because I want more property than I can do justice to."

"You are an odd man, Darcy. My brother would have married Anne without a second thought given the opportunity—what is another estate mortgaged away to him?"

"Thank heavens he did not have the option. Neither Anne nor the tenants deserve that grief."

"No, I imagine not. He certainly would not tolerate your conditions." He rolled his eyes. "Do you suppose Bennet will be able to help him?"

"I do not know, but his attitude is very different from the others we have sought out, so perhaps."

"You can suggest he bring her along, you know."

"What?"

"Have Bennet bring his daughter when we take him to Matlock. Invent some excuse—companion for Georgiana, I do not know."

"Do not be absurd."

"The way you look at her, you are far more obvious—"

"She…she is not of our circles…" That sounded insincere even in his own ears.

Michaels rode up. "Please forgive me. I had not previously noted the condition of that field. We must do something about the drainage."

"Not to worry." Darcy tipped his hat. It was a relief to put that conversation to an end. They set off toward the Bennets'.

Michaels was right. The field, like most at Rosings, was in poor condition. Did Fitzwilliam realize just how poor? Probably not, especially if his idea of life was reduced to the carnal pleasures to be offered by the _ton_. He was unlikely to do a worse job managing Rosings than Aunt Catherine and, if he were determined, he might even do better. But the estate was unlikely to prosper in this generation. More likely it would struggle to avoid debt, debt Darcy did not want to finance from Pemberley's coffers. No, that was to go to legacies for his younger children…what an outstanding mother Miss Elizabeth would be.

He shook his head. Where had that thought come from?

Scene 29 Men at the pub

Wickham was difficult to extract from the Bennet house. Mrs. Bennet was loath to permit him to leave until Darcy intimated that Lady Catherine expressed her approval for their outing, then she could not have him out fast enough.

Michaels led them to several soggy, overgrown fields and a cluster of dilapidated cottages. At least two of them were not inhabited, which, though it was a relief, it also signified more squandered opportunity for much needed revenue. Both Michaels and Fitzwilliam were appalled at their findings, while Wickham appeared quite sanguine in the midst of it all, even suggesting they share a meal at the local pub afterwards. While dining at a pub was hardly desirable, even less desirable was facing Aunt Catherine until he considered how to present this day's discoveries in a way most likely to gain her cooperation. So he agreed to Wickham's proposal.

The pub, tucked in a dark, narrow building wedged between two far finer establishments, looked exactly like the kind of place Darcy would never patronize. At least the smells emanating from within were more reminiscent of a kitchen than a refuse heap, some little comfort there.

The interior was dark. Probably just as well, to hide the dirt, but the serving girl wore an apron that had probably been fresh that morning. She led them to a well-worn table in the far corner.

"I can assure you of the quality of the beer and victuals here." Wickham leaned back in his chair and draped his arm over the back of Michaels' seat. "It is nothing to Rosings, or even the Bennet's table, but when one would enjoy a meal free from prattling baggage, it is quite acceptable."

So that was his opinion of the Bennet ladies. What would Mrs. Bennet think if she knew? What would Bennet?

"You seem no worse for wear for your confinement at the Bennets'." Fitzwilliam lifted his tankard.

"I have greatly enjoyed their hospitality. The daughters are most agreeable company. Though Bingley commands the eldest's attentions, the younger girls are quite keen on seeing to my amusement."

Michaels cleared his throat and glowered.

Wickham was about to make another enemy. No wonder he seemed to do it so easily where young ladies were concerned. Perhaps he should—what an absurd thought. Darcy give Wickham advice concerning women? What a way to be scorned and ridiculed. No, Wickham could learn on his own. Perhaps this time it would make an impression on him.

Or not. Michaels' was mild in temper, though sharp in discernment. He would cut Wickham and Wickham would never even realize. How inconvenient.

"Not to fear, Michaels." Wickham laughed "Miss Mary quite refuses to pay me any more mind than her mother requires. She is by all accounts a very good girl with little curiosity as to what the wider world might offer."

Michaels settled back in his seat, though his clenched jaw implied he was in no way satisfied with Wickham's answer.

"Do not be so serious, Michaels! I would not dream of interfering with your suit. Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia are far more pleasing company in any case."

"Forgive me, but I am surprised you are a fine enough suitor for one of Mrs. Bennet's daughters." Fitzwilliam took a long draw from his tankard.

Darcy winced, but Michaels merely shrugged.

"Miss Mary is of little concern to her mother. She is far too plain and sensible to marry well, in Mrs. Bennet's estimation." Michaels ducked his head over his tankard and grumbled.

So Miss Elizabeth was not the only daughter out of favor in that house.

"All things considered, that might not be so bad a thing." Fitzwilliam cocked his head. "It would seem too much of that lady's attentions would be rather undesirable."

"I rather enjoy them. She does know how to make a guest feel welcome." Wickham's grin raised the hairs on the back of Darcy's neck.

"That reminds me. I want you to accompany Michaels as he rides the estate." Darcy glanced at Michaels who nodded.

"What? And leave Mrs. Bennet's hospitality? I would not offend her—"

"She will take no offense. You will return in the evenings as Bennet will not have you back at Rosings for another se'nnight at least."

"Not about to permit me to enjoy any leisure are you?" Wickham tossed back the remainder of his beer and waved the girl for another.

Darcy snorted. "That was not the purpose of your journey, or have you forgotten? Should you not wish the position as Pemberley's steward, you have only to speak the words and I shall embark on finding another man."

Wickham lifted his hands. "Must you always carry the keg, Darcy? One would think this lovely venue has only shortened your temper rather than eased it."

Why had he allowed himself to be persuaded to give Wickham one more opportunity? He should have followed his initial instincts.

Michaels leaned forward on his elbows. "You do understand, Mr. Wickham, stewardship of a large estate is no easy job. The hours can be long, with many spent on horseback."

Wickham shrugged.

"You must keep abreast of the markets for all goods produced so as to understand how best to utilize the land. There is much new work to study in farming and husbandry."

"So you say this is a bookish pursuit?"

"Not really, though my evenings are oft spend reading, if not for new learning, then to discover the answers to current problems. Of course, accounts must be maintained and settled. Sometimes, I consult with the vicar regarding disputes among the tenants who may be apt to squabble like schoolboys."

"The vicar? I would think it better to drop them a sixpence and leave Mr. Prunella in his pulpit."

Michaels glanced at Darcy with upraised brows.

"That is your philosophy of management?" Darcy said. No doubt, it was best he never made it to the bar.

"Does not all management work that way?" Wickham took a large gulp from his refreshed tankard.

"I do not wish to see Pemberley run that way."

"Nor do I manage Rosings in that manner."

"I shall keep that in mind then." Wickham raised his mug.

Acknowledgement, but not agreement. Darcy stifled a chuckle. Miss Elizabeth would have noted that. But then, she was already quite clear in her dislike of Wickham. That alone should inform him.

Fitzwilliam cocked his head at Darcy. Darcy shook his head. He would ask Michaels for possible candidates for a steward for Pemberley immediately.

Still, Wickham needed to be removed from the Bennet house as much as possible. Michaels would probably agree. "See that you do as you tour with Michaels. It would seem you have a great deal more to learn than I thought." He settled back in his seat and crossed his arms.

"There, there, now, calm yourself. You make too much out of a small trifling remark."

"I find small remarks very telling." Darcy muttered.

"I would not be so fastidious for the world. Ah, look."

The serving girl arrived with their plates.

"Tuck in, Darcy. A little kitchen physic will set you up."

Certainly not, especially considering the indistinguishable brown mass on his plate. Darcy tucked his napkin into his collar and resigned himself to his meal.

Scene 30 E and Charlotte

Three days later, Miss de Bourgh's entertainment required a book that had been loaned to Charlotte. Elizabeth set out to fetch the article, though she had been offered both a footman and a maid to do the task in her stead.

The afternoon sun offered just the right amount of light and warmth. She slowed her pace. Such a respite needed to be extended as long as possible. Events at Rosings had taken such an odd turn. Every opportunity must be used now for reflection. It was far too difficult to think about anything in Miss de Bourgh's company.

Mr. Darcy had met her every morning before anyone else rose, and they walked together. Some days, like today, they spoke little, just kept very aimaiable company with the occasional stray remark. Other mornings, they spoke at length on a great variety of topics. He was certainly a man of information and pronounced opinions—not entirely unlike his aunt in that regard. But, while _she_ would never reconsider an opinion, he was far more amenable to discussion and debate. That is probably why he spoke so little in _her_ presence and wore that disagreeable mien.

Clearly, he resented _her_ attempts at running his life as well. Yet _she_ seemed utterly immune to his rebellion. How much more frequent had _her_ remarks regarding his marriage to Anne become?

She bit her lip. That point would come to a head soon. Would that she could be far away when it did lest the blame land squarely in her lap.

It was a shame—a very great shame—that he was such an agreeable man—the most agreeable in her acquaintance. She would very much like to continue their friendship, but that wish, like so many others, had little potential for fulfillment. He would have to return to Pemberley and there would hardly be an opportunity to see him until he returned again to Rosings.

She sighed, though Mama had told her numerous times it was an unattractive gesture.

At least Jane's desires had hope. If her letters were to be believed— and Jane's always were—Mr. Bingley showed her every attention and admiration. Perhaps this once, Lady Catherine had stumbled on to an appropriate match.

As she approached the parsonage, a white flash in the garden caught her eye. Charlotte! Even better, Mr. Collins was nowhere in sight. She ran the last few paces to the garden.

"Charlotte!"

"Lizzy! How delightful to see you."

"I have been released from my gilded cage, at least temporarily, on a mission of mercy for Miss de Bourgh."

Charlotte laughed and covered her mouth. It did not help. She only laughed harder. "Oh, dear. It really has been too long since I have seen you."

"So it would seem. You must indeed be in desperate need of levity."

"I suppose so. Mr. Collins is not exactly of the type to encourage laughter—"

"At least not intentionally?"

Charlotte gasped and snickered. "Lizzy! You should not say—"

"Is it somehow untrue?"

"Not untrue, but perhaps unwise." Charlotte glanced over her shoulder.

Elizabeth nodded. "You may be correct. Perhaps I have been away from polite company too long."

Charlotte clutched her forehead and laughed. "You really must stop. One day you will forget yourself in company.—"

"You are entirely correct, I fear. I do apologize for taxing your ears with my rampant misbehavior."

"Will you come inside and sit with me a bit?"

"That would be most agreeable, particularly since Miss de Bourgh has sent me in search of the novel she insisted you borrow several weeks ago."

Charlotte led her into the house. "Oh dear, I have not had time—or inclination—to read it."

"Do not fear. I shall not tell her."

"But what if she quizzes me on it?"

Elizabeth winked. "Offer me tea and I shall tell you everything you need to know to answer her questions most suitably."

"Then tea you shall have." Charlotte spoke a few words to her maid and ushered Elizabeth into the parlor.

The room faced the back garden—not an ideal view—but Mr. Collins liked to keep watch of the road, so the front room was left for him. Despite the view, the room was neat and snug and reflected Charlotte in every corner even though Lady Catherine had her share of influence over all facets of the room: the shelves, the carpets, the curtains, the paper hanging and the paintings.

In the time it took to bring tea, Elizabeth related the plot and details of the novel Charlotte had avoided reading.

"I must confess, I am glad I did not read it."

"It is not to your taste?"

"I am surprised it was to yours."

"I never said that."

"But you describe it so well."

"Because I read it to Miss de Bourgh. Several times now."

Charlotte pursed her lips into an expression that reminded Elizabeth of her mother. She shook her head as she poured the tea. "Oh, Lizzy—I know of no one else so willing to do disagreeable things simply because those around her expect it."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I suppose it is easier than weathering the consequences of refusing."

"You puzzle me exceedingly. How is it you are, on one hand, so ready to speak your mind and yet, in the next moment, you agree to do that which you clearly have no desire to?"

Elizabeth's face burned as if slapped. How could Charlotte understand the price to be paid for disagreeing? Her throat tightened almost too constricted to breathe. Though Papa appeared mild, his temper, when finally revealed, was a fearsome thing. Mama's tongue was barbed, but she had neither the strength nor tenacity in her resentment that Papa had. How lovely it would be to say no when she felt the urge, but it was a luxury she could ill-afford.

"Is that ginger I smell?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, I have grown fond of ginger tea."

"No, you have not." She peered into Charlotte's face. "It is disagreeable and I know you think it, too. There is only one reason you would drink it. To settle your stomach—"

Charlotte looked away.

Elizabeth leaned across the table until she could see Charlotte's face. "Are you…you are!"

Charlotte pressed her hand to her belly.

"I am so pleased for you. I have suspected for weeks—"

"Of course you have. I do not know why I even bother to tell you anything, for you always know everything before I speak it." Charlotte sipped her tea.

"Well, I am glad you have told me as now we can speak of it freely."

"You do not consider it indelicate?"

"For the drawing room, yes, of course. But not in private, between us. With Mama's many lying-ins and Papa's consultations, I dare say I have been exposed to far more than a delicate, unmarried, woman should be. But we shall let that be our secret."

The corners of Charlotte's lips turned up and her eyes shimmered.

"What is wrong? You are afraid?"

She nodded.

"Tell me of it."

"I am being foolish, I suppose."

"The travail frightens you?"

"I was with Mama during her last lying in. It was midwinter and a snowstorm prevented the midwife from attending. She finally arrived, just before the birth, but it had already gone on a night and a day. There was so much blood!" She shuddered.

Elizabeth took her hand. "I am sorry."

"All I can think of now are her screams and the blood and her fever afterwards. We did not think she would survive. It was at least six months before she began to regain her strength." A tear slid down her cheek. She dabbed it with the back of her hand. "Mr. Collins tells me I am being a goosecap, but he has no experience with such things. I do not think he understands—or believes—what may happen."

Of course not! Lady Catherine would certainly declare it impossible, so therefore, it would not be so. "I am so sorry he would treat you thusly. What can I do for you? Perhaps you should speak to Mama. She had six lying-ins—no seven—and will be able to advise you well."

"Do you think she would speak to me of such things?"

"I have no doubt." Elizabeth laughed. "Mama speaks quite freely about too many things."

Charlotte blushed. "I would like it if she would."

"I believe she would as well."

"May I ask something else of you?"

"Of course."

"Would you speak to your father?"

"My father?"

"I would like him to—"

"Would not a midwife be more appropriate than a doctor?"

"After the midwife who attended Mama, I want nothing to do with one."

"An accoucheur then? Or a surgeon?"

"Perhaps, but even then, it would give me great peace nonetheless to know he was there. He might consult and direct them, should it be necessary." She dropped her gaze and turned her face aside.

"You could ask him yourself, you know. He does not bite."

"But Lady Catherine is so particular about him treating any but Anne, particularly among her servants."

"You eat at her table. You are not servants!" Elizabeth slapped the table.

"Mr. Collins does not wish me to ask. He has said he will arrange whatever midwife Lady Catherine recommends."

"That is not his place. The birthing room is not the purview of any man, save a medical one."

"He is my husband—"

"He is a fool." Elizabeth rose and paced beside the table. "Forgive me, Charlotte, but this is beyond the pale. He has no business interfering. I will certainly speak to Papa and make your concerns very clear. Mama has made certain he understands a woman's concerns at such a time, very well indeed. You will find him most sympathetic. Mama too. She will be of great comfort to you, perhaps too much comfort." She laughed.

"I can see what you mean." Charlotte smiled. "You are a very good friend. You know that, do you not?"

"You know I am always happy to help."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Darcy paced the hall near the stairs. Bennet should emerge from his audience with Aunt Catherine soon. Better he should try to capture a wraith. Three days Bennet managed to elude him. This could go on no longer.

The door squeaked. At last!

He rushed to Aunt Catherine's parlor, but Bennet was already disappearing down the corridor.

"Dr. Bennet."

Bennet stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"A word with you please." Darcy stopped beside him.

"Certainly, sir."

Darcy glanced about the corridor. As always, Long Tom was there. Did that man ever leave? How did he manage to accomplish anything when he was always standing about?

"Not here, let us take a turn about the garden if you will." Darcy gestured down the hall.

"I must go into town to see the apothecary. Perhaps you would care to ride with me?"

"A ride would be agreeable." He had forgone morning rides in favor of clandestine walks with Miss Elizabeth.

It must be the anticipation, but he found each encounter with her more agreeable than the last. What was most pleasing? Her intelligence, her humor or the gentle thoughtfulness that suffused everything about her. No one was below her notice, not the scullery maid's chilblains, nor Long Tom's aching back, nor Aunt Catherine's sleeplessness.

What did she notice about him?

They headed for the barn.

What an odd man this doctor was. Intelligent and acerbic, but innovative in his approaches to treatment. Certainly Anne flourished under his care, at least to the extent it was possible. He was not the toad his cousin Collins was, though there was a family resemblance. Bennet was far too apt to agree with Aunt Catherine and her meddling interference in his household.

How could he respect a man who was not master over his own home. Much less one who treated his daughter the way Bennet did. Could not that man see the treasure that he had? He appeared to favor her, but on closer reflection, it was more that he relied upon her, and took for granted her help and support. But in the very next breath, he would dismiss her, even insult her.

And she would smile through it, never once taking up for herself. On the other hand, it was not something she could do in polite company either. But just how many barbs was it right for one to endure?

At least Bennet was a decent horseman. Not Fitzwilliam's caliber, certainly, but good enough not to be an insult to the title gentleman.

"You had something you wished to speak of," Bennet said. "The case you desire consultation on, perhaps?"

"No, that is for another time. What I need to speak of is a much more immediate concern."

"Have you some physical complaint?" Bennet turned to him, eyebrows raised. "I know what often plagues gentlemen of your age and standing. I have little to offer but the conventional treatment for one who is—how they say—burnt."

What? How dare he! "That is not what I wish to discuss."

"It is a common enough malady, no need to take such a defensive posture with me, sir."

"I neither have the pox, nor need assistance concerning it." Darcy pinched his temples. Could Bennet possibly be more offensive?

The horse tensed beneath him. Darcy looked over his shoulder.

A gig clattered toward them. It was early yet for the driver to be drunk as David's sow, but his control of the equipage said otherwise. Raucous shouts and laughter from its passengers—a man and a woman—rose above the noise of the wheels and horses hooves. The driver—Good Lord it was Wickham! The young woman beside him bore a strong resemblance to Miss Elizabeth.

They pulled their horses off the road barely in time for the gig to fly by. Wickham did not acknowledge them as they rattled past, but the girl, one hand clutching her bonnet, waved wildly.

Darcy coughed on the impropriety and the dust cloud left in their wake. He pointed at the departing vehicle. "That is what I wish to talk to you about."

Bennet's brow knotted and he grumbled under his breath. "I did not authorize him to drive my gig."

"That is all you have to say? You did not authorize him to drive your equipage? Did you not notice he had one of your daughters with him?"

"I am full capable of recognizing my own children, thank you."

"You do not find it troubling to see your daughter, unchaperoned, in the company of a man?"

"Lady Catherine presented him as a suitable beau for Elizabeth, so why should I object to his keeping company with any of the girls?"

Darcy clenched and unclenched his hands. Shaking the man was not likely to make him any more rational, though it could not possibly hurt, could it?

"I am certain her mother approved their outing. If that is so, who am I to object?"

"Her father! Are you not mindful of her reputation—even her person?"

"If Lady Catherine trusts him, then I do as well. Though, I will insist he leave off driving my gig."

"That is all you wish him to leave off? What about escorting your unchaperoned daughter?"

"The gig only holds two; a chaperone would be easier to arrange if they cannot use it."

"His company is not suitable—"

"Why do you say that?"

"I know his history with young ladies and it is not a favorable one. He was to have been a barrister. However, he has had many dalliances which left him unable to gain invitation to the Inns of Courts. The intemperance cost him his chance at a gentleman's life. If you are concerned about someone being burnt, it is to him you should offer your services."

Bennet's eyes narrowed. "That is not what Lady Catherine told me."

"The full information was not made available to her. I am sensitive as to what information should be provided to a lady."

"Why should I trust you?" Bennet folded his arms over his chest. "You are eager enough to walk with Lizzy, unescorted, on Rosings' ground. You have done so nearly every morning for some time now, I believe."

Darcy's jaw dropped.

"You thought those walks clandestine? I am more observant than you think. I see much more than you know. Elizabeth takes after me." He stroked his chin. "It seems to me we have a case of the pot calling the kettle black, son."

Son? His stomach knotted. Bennet assumed entirely too much familiarity. This was not to be borne! "You wish me to stop walking with her?" The possibility was dreadful, but so was Bennet.

"Not at all, dismiss the very notion from your mind. I would not instruct Lady Catherine's nephew on his comportment. You are engaged to Anne. Lizzy has been nursing her. What more natural thing than for you to wish to communication about the woman you are both caring for?"

"I am not engaged to Anne."

"Lady Catherine says you are. I expect the official announcement will be made soon."

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Do not be distraught. I shall not share your secret abroad. I will be most pleased to allow her the pleasure of the proclamation. In the meantime enjoy your conversations with Lizzy and let her tell you of how best to ensure your future wife's health and happiness. I feel sure none knows that better than my Lizzy." He tipped his hat and rode off.

Darcy started at his back. What had just happened? He had been accused of having the pox, of being engaged to Anne, and of being inappropriate with Miss Elizabeth. All the while Bennet ignored his warnings about Wickham. This was not the favor he promised Miss Elizabeth. If he could not get Bennet to listen, then he would have to discuss the matter with Wickham himself.

Four days later, Miss de Bourgh felt strong enough to visit below stairs for a short time. The following day, Papa released Wickham and Bingley from quarantine. To celebrate the Bennets and Collinses were invited to dinner at Rosings the following evening.

"You seem in very high spirits tonight, Miss Elizabeth." Miss de Bourgh sniffled and dabbed her nose with her silken handkerchief.

"I have not seen Jane since the night you took ill and have missed her very much."

"I do not see why it should matter so very much to you—the company here at Rosings must be far better than your sister's."

Elizabeth cleared her throat and blinked. There was no civil response to such a remark.

"Really, I mean no offense, but even the Bingley woman and her sister are better educated, and since they have been living recently in London—"

Of course, so had they, prior to their relocation to Rosings, but that was conveniently forgettable. "I believe I understand your point, Miss de Bough. While Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst have been many fine and fashionable places, they are not my particular friends as my sister is."

"I do not understand all the fluff and fluster about a particular friend. Truly, what good is it? I have not one and have never cared a jot."

Elizabeth sighed. "Perhaps those of your rank have no need of such things whereas those of us without that comfort need to find it elsewhere."

"I suppose. But I find it a very stupid thing indeed. I would have thought you above it. Is not your companionship to me not enough?"

"I…I…"

"I have considered asking Mama to make you my companion rather than crusty old Mrs. Jenkins."

"I do not think that a good idea, Miss de Bourgh."

"Nonsense! When I marry my cousin, you may come with me to Pemberley and nurse me. You know your father's ways quite well, I am sure."

"I was not of a mind to seek a position—"

"Well, you should. You will never marry now you have refused two eligible suitors. Mama says she has quite despaired of marrying you off. She is now looking for positions for you. She hopes to see you well-settled in one soon and I do not see why it cannot be with me."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. She must remember to breathe—swoons would be decidedly unsafe around one who would certainly make no attempt to break her fall.

"I know, her consideration toward you is very great, is it not? Come now, take my arm and help me downstairs I should like to enjoy a little of the company tonight. And since you are so looking forward to seeing your sister tonight, you may stay below stairs even when I retire. Am I not good to you? You see how pleasant it is to be my companion?"

Elizabeth stretched her lips into the most insincere smile of her life. The gall! The arrogance! She was every inch her mother's daughter. How dare she think Elizabeth would ever live at Pemberley in any capacity but its mistress?

Mistress? Wherein heavens had that thought from?

Everyone in the parlor rose and offered their greetings to Miss de Bourgh. A few looked genuinely excited to have her company. They were far better actresses than Elizabeth. Such disguise was definitely beyond her means. She released her charge and made her way to Jane.

Mr. Bingley stood beside her. Elizabeth swallowed hard. Their sisterly confidences would have to wait. But it would be well. Jane should make the most of her opportunity to see Mr. Bingley now he was no longer resident under mama's hospitality. Elizabeth should not be so selfish.

"Lizzy!" Jane kissed her cheek. "I have missed you so."

"Nonsense. How can you say such a thing when we have had such charming company in her absence?"

Elizabeth turned. "Good evening Mama."

"You are looking well, Lizzy." Mama's gaze raked her up and down. "Miss de Bourgh is looking well too. It seems your companionship is a great boon to her."

"Papa's care for her has a great deal more to do with that, I am sure."

"That may be so, but a woman is always comforted by the companionship of another woman." She peeked over her shoulder toward Miss de Bourgh.

No! Heavens please, let her not be thinking the same thing as Miss de Bourgh!

"That reminds me, Charlotte—Mrs. Collins—is very much in need of motherly companionship right now. I do not know if she is bold enough to seek you out herself, but I know she would be greatly comforted if you would take the time to speak with her."

"Indeed? The dear girl, so far from her own mother at such a time as this. I will make sure to single her out tonight." Mama patted her arm and wandered toward Charlotte.

How quickly Charlotte had gone from 'that woman' to 'dear girl'. At least this was one area in which she could utterly trust Mama's judgment and compassion. Charlotte would be in good hands.

Long Tom entered the parlor and announced dinner was ready. Lady Catherine, on Mr. Darcy's arm, led them into the dining room.

The novelty of Miss de Bourgh at dinner carried the entirety of the conversation. Each dish had been prepared with her tastes and requirements in mind. Though the overall effect was bland and mushy, no one at the table had even the opportunity to remark upon it. Lady Catherine scarcely breathed, or ate, with her running commentary on every imaginable topic.

Her verbosity always grew in proportion to her anxiety. Poor woman was still beside herself with worry for Miss de Bourgh.

Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced at Mr. Darcy and rolled his eyes. Mr. Darcy pressed his lips and shook his head. What were Mr. Darcy's perceptions of his Aunt tonight? Did he think her merely ridiculous or could he discern her underlying apprehension. Perhaps they would talk about it in the morning.

Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned close to Miss de Bourgh and whispered something that earned him a small smile and a laugh that ended in a tiny cough.

The room fell into silence and all eyes turned to Miss de Bourgh. She blushed and chided her cousin for causing such concern.

Something about Colonel Fitzwilliam's posture had changed since the last time he had been with Miss de Bourgh. Elizabeth's brows knotted. Why was he suddenly paying such attention to a woman clearly outside his notice before? Elizabeth shook her head. Best not exert too much thought on the matter.

More disturbing were the meaningful expressions passing between Miss Darcy and Mr. Wickham. Did not Mr. Darcy recognize them? Perhaps she was becoming as protective of Miss Darcy as her brother. Regardless, she should mention it during their next conversation.

Lady Catherine adjourned with the ladies, leaving the dining room to Mr. Darcy and the men. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham had been deprived of masculine company these weeks in the Bennet abode, after all.

As usual, the drawing room was far too hot. Miss de Bourgh sat close to the fire, the Bingley sisters in close attendance, fawning upon her every word.

She was rarely grateful for the presence of the two women, but tonight they were great comfort since they allowed her to seek out Jane.

"Oh Lizzy!" Jane took her hands and drew her down to the settee beside her.

If they spoke softly they might escape Lady Catherine's and Mama's notice for a few moments.

"How I have missed you!"

"I am surprised you even noticed my absence while hosting such agreeable company." Elizabeth could not suppress the smile that tugged her lips up.

Jane blushed and blinked. "That does not mean you were not missed."

"So tell me, will Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham be missed now their banishment from Rosins has ended?"

"Very much, I dare say. Mama has been in such high spirits entertaining them."

"And you?"

Jane squirmed, but in a most ladylike fashion.

"Were you in high spirits as well?"

"You know that is not my nature, Lizzy. No matter how much I may like him, I cannot be something I am not."

Elizabeth sighed and squeezed Jane's hand. "You have been much pressured to do exactly that?"

"Mama is much more pleased with Lydia's manners in a gentleman's society than mine."

"That is because she used those means herself to get Papa."

"Lizzy!"

"Forgive me. That was ungracious. But you must agree, Mama—"

"You must allow for differences among people. You cannot judge. Just because they are not your ways does not make them wrong."

"On principle, I agree, but I must believe there is a point at which things have gone too far. Enough of that, though. Tell me of Mr. Bingley. You like him very well?"

Jane dropped her gaze and wrung her hands. "I do indeed."

"Looking at him tonight, I think the feeling mutual."

"I do hope that it is, Lizzy, so very much. Do you think it is too soon to hope he has formed an attachment to me?"

Elizabeth glanced toward the door. "For some, perhaps, but Mr. Darcy has often mentioned his bewilderment at Mr. Bingley's rather impulsive nature—"

"That does not sound like a compliment."

"What bewilders Mr. Darcy is the degree to which Mr. Bingley's impulsive decisions are correct." She cocked her head and lifted her brow.

Jane giggled.

"You will forgive me, your ladyship, but on this point, I must disagree."

That was mama's voice. Jane and Elizabeth turned. She never contradicted Lady Catherine on any point.

"Disagree? Disagree? On what basis can you possibly disagree with me?"

"I have three living daughters, your ladyship and have birthed seven children all together. I would say I have far and away more experience in lying in and confinements and all things related to motherhood."

"Experience along does not make you an expert—"

Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a glance. Mama had that tone in her voice, the one that never ended well. They rose and hurried toward the other ladies.

Charlotte sat between Mama and Lady Catherine while Georgiana looked on with wide eyes and a creeping pallor.

"I should think, Mrs. Bennet, that married to a man of science, you would be quick to recognize that science is the best arbiter of experience."

"I thought you believed tradition to arbiter of experience." Mama's voice climbed an octave, sharp enough to slice though shoe leather.

"Indeed it is, in some things. But in others, like this, it is science. And science dictates—"

"Nonsense! It is not Mrs. Collins fault she fell with child. It is well known that no means of preventing it is entirely effective."

Charlotte colored almost to match the wine of the upholstery, eyes bulging and begging for deliverance.

"Had she but listened to me and followed my advice she might be spared her current situation." Lady Catherine waved her hand, nearly striking Charlotte in the face.

"Spared, why might she wish to be spared? A child is blessing—the duty of a wife is to provide heirs."

"But summer is a most ill-advised time for a confinement. I told her spring—"

"So you expected Mr. Collins—"

Jane's jaw dropped.

Miss Darcy gasped.

Elizabeth hurried to her side.

"I just remembered some music I discovered upstairs in the small sitting room. Would you come examine it with me? I think you might enjoy playing it when the gentlemen join us."

Miss Darcy sprang to her feet. "Yes—yes that is an excellent idea." She grabbed Elizabeth's arm and they rushed out the door.

A dozen steps form the parlor, they paused. Poor girl was trembling. Long Tom appeared at Elizabeth's elbow.

"Fetch Miss Darcy some wine and water. We will be upstairs in the small sitting room."

He bowed and strode away.

Elizabeth guided her upstairs to the window bench. She pushed the window open. "Just sit back and breathe a bit. The fresh air will do you good."

Miss Darcy leaned back and closed her eyes.

Elizabeth went to an armoire and retrieved several sheets of dusty music.

"You actually found music here?"

She handed Miss Darcy the neatly penned sheets. "Of course I did."

"That was not just a disguise to get me away from that dreadful conversation?"

"That was my express purpose, but I find it ill-advised to use deception to accomplish one's ends. These are older pieces, rather simple, just plain folk songs—"

She traced the line with her fingertip and hummed. "I shall enjoy playing them and my brother will approve. He likes these simple melodies very much indeed."

"I am glad then. It makes the excuse that much more palatable."

"Thank you for removing me from that conversation. I cannot believe—"

"Yes, thank you."

They both jumped and turned. Mr. Darcy stood in the door way, wine glass in hand.

"The butler suggested I find you here. He believed my sister might be feeling ill."

"Not ill, brother only mortified."

"The conversation had taken a turn inappropriate for a maiden's ears." Elizabeth said.

"So I gathered." Darcy strode in and handed the glass to his sister. "If it was anything like what we walked in on a few moments ago—"

"I am certain it was. Neither my mother nor Lady Catherine is easily distracted when a topic has captured their interest."

"No indeed. The conversation was quite animated when I left. Your father was doing his best to pacify them both. Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested that the rest of us should adjourn to the music room while the matter was being settled. We thought you might be willing to play the music Miss Bennet procured."

Elizabeth smiled and lifted her brows.

Miss Darcy giggled. "Of course, I think it a very good idea. Shall I go then?"

"Yes, we will be there in a moment."

Georgiana hurried out.

Mr. Darcy offered her his arm. His fingers were warm and heavy over her own. Lady Catherine would certainly not approve.

"Thank you for removing Georgiana from that scene. I do not know what possessed my aunt to engage in such conversation at all, but especially with my sister present."

"I fear it was my mother's fault. She contradicted Lady Catherine and her ladyship cannot abide being disagreed with."

"I know that to be true. " He turned and gazed into her eyes.

No man had ever looked at her that way, so intensely, so completely. Her skin tingled where his eyes touched it and her breath came in shallow pants. Why could she not breathe when he stood so close?

"You are very good to my family." His voice turned husky, a sound she would never tire of. "You have my deepest gratitude. My sister in particular is quite sheltered and easily distressed by my Aunt."

"Those of a stronger constitution are as well." She chuckled.

"Are you?"

The room swam and her head spun. What had he said? Had he actually asked? Her cheeks burned. Had she not had his arm, she would have swooned.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"I suppose there are times when it is challenging—"

He threw his head back and laughed. Would that he never stop. "You are indeed the embodiment of all that is gracious and kind. I have never met the like of you."

"Obviously the company you keep has been far more refined than that to be found here in the country."

"Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst are considered refined. I think the quality highly overrated." He looked into her eyes, and perhaps into her soul. "Have you ever been told you have the most arresting eyes?"

"Excuse me, sir." Long Tom stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, face entirely impassive.

Of all people to come upon them, thank Providence it was one she trusted.

"Shall I send refreshments to the music room?"

"Ah," Darcy stared, color creeping up along his jawline. "Ah, yes, that would be…"

"Most agreeable," Elizabeth said.

Tom bowed and disappeared.

"Perhaps we should adjourn to the music room before we are missed." She did not sound as convincing as she should. The company of Mr. Wickham and the Bingley sisters had not the appeal of the company she currently enjoyed.

"I am sure you are correct." He pressed her hand to his arm.

She held firm, glad for the support against her weakened knees. Lady Catherine would not approve.

If _she_ knew would _she_ hurt Jane's chance with Mr. Bingley out of revenge? Surely _she_ could not be so vengeful as that. Surely Mr. Bingley could not be so easily swayed as that. What connection had he to Lady Catherine that he would have him kowtowing in ubiquitous submission to her every word like Mr. Collins?

If only the journey to the music room were a little longer, they might have had time to talk, even a little. Their morning walks left her greedy for more.


End file.
